


Dilaudid

by Lintilla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Beta!Lestrade, Jealousy, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Omega!John, Oral Sex, Pining, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, social inequality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintilla/pseuds/Lintilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where omegas are coveted by the most exclusive alphas, John Watson chooses to live undercover.  With the help of medication, John lives as a beta letting no one know his true nature. After moving in with Sherlock Holmes, the most amazing alpha he's ever met, he wonders how long he can keep his secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Dilaudid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090519) by [CottonSiu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CottonSiu/pseuds/CottonSiu)



> My omega!verse rules are a bit different. I explain them within context in the story but if you want to read them before you begin the story, I've posted them here.  
> http://laurenlena.tumblr.com/post/20757574345/my-omega-verse-rules

John Watson paced the floral patterned carpet of the hotel room as he waited for his companion.  He was anxious, his skin seeming to crawl and itch over his muscles, demanding attention.  For the sake of over preparedness, John rechecked the supplies in the room making sure he was ready.  The mini-fridge was stocked with bottled water, sports drinks, and fresh fruit while the top of the dresser contained boxes of his favorite biscuits and snacks.  There was a stack of fresh flannels next to the bed and several sets of clean sheets that housekeeping provided without even having to be asked.  They knew why he was there since he had to request an omega suite to keep out any unwanted alpha attention. 

Hidden in a dresser, John also had a box with toys – dildos, vibrators, and plugs – in case his companion decided not to show up; however, John somehow knew he would never need them, whatever alpha he invited, no matter how young, successful, or beautiful, always accepted the invitation.  The idea of spending three days with an unbound omega in heat was a chance no sane alpha would ever pass up even if it was only a one time affair.  John never slept with the same alpha twice and never gave his real name, far too risky for an omega that wished to remain unbound.  Instead, John would conjure up a fake name and arrange a rendezvous in a hotel.

Although he could go into heat once every three months – usually lasting three days – John was a cautious man and only allowed himself to indulge once a year.  And an indulgence it was.  Since puberty, John kept meticulous records of his heat cycles so it was only a matter of abstaining from his hormone suppressant drugs for two days before his predicted heat cycle, and for the next 72 hours, he allowed himself to become the omega that roiled under the surface.  Sex during omega estrus was a mind blowing, excessive ordeal that defied all logical thought.  During the three days, John would turn away from his carefully cultivated beta persona and transform into a sex god, insatiable and irresistible. 

Also hidden from sight but easily accessible was John’s Browning he had kept after returning from Afghanistan. John’s greatest fear since the time he had learned he was an omega was to be bonded to a man he didn’t love.  Even though the temptation was always there – damn hormones – John knew his own sense of independence would stop him from initiating a bond, but there was always the looming threat of force bonding.  Although highly illegal and punishable by death, force bonding still occurred sometimes with seemingly sensible alphas.  At his age, John was not taking any risks.  The older an omega was the more pheromones his body produced in hopes of snaring a suitable mate.  Essentially John was at war with his own instincts.  While his brain and heart earned for a simple, independent life, his very essence craved the power of a dominating alpha. 

Having learned long ago that the alphas didn’t care about his appearance when he was in heat, John didn’t bother dressing up.  Instead, he wore simple track pants and a snug white t-shirt since they would be ripped off him almost immediately. In fact, he wondered why he bothered with the clothing at all, in his bothered state they felt impossibly cloying and hot, just another layer between him and his alpha.  John groaned loudly, he was already losing control imagining himself as a helpless prince waiting for his brave knight. 

With a shake of his head, John pushed away that image and reminded himself not to romanticize the alpha.  He struggled to remember the man’s name and basic facts about his life.  They had met in a pub last week and struck up a conversation on T.S. Eliot.  John had been charmed by the alpha’s – no, Glenn’s – thoughts on Prufrock and decided he seemed kind and gentle enough not to be a threat.  Glenn preferred German beer, indie rock, and wore a green cardigan.  He was young, probably only 24, but John knew that was safer.  While he actually was more attracted to older men, John chose young alphas to couple with because age only brought with it an increased desperation for omegas. 

Suddenly, John was startled from his pacing by a hesitant knock at the door.  With a flourish of the fingers on his dominant hand, John set his shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned the handle.  He was greeted by the sight of Glenn, the young alpha, fidgeting nervously and clutching a small bouquet of flowers.  John could barely suppress his grin; he always found it endearingly ridiculous when alphas brought him flowers.  The antiquated tradition of courting an omega was so heavily ingrained from childhood stories that first time alphas could hardly seem to help but try to impress him. 

“Are those for me?” John asked Glenn who was standing stock still, eyes comically enlarged.

In a hushed, almost reverential voice, the young man sputtered, “It’s true, you really are an omega.”

John smiled in amusement before taking a step back and shedding his t-shirt.  Glenn gulped loudly and drank in John’s compact, military toned physique. 

“Why don’t you step inside and close the door.  I don’t think I can hold out much longer,” John purred shamelessly. 

The alpha jerked into motion and fumbled inside, practically slamming the door behind him.  In his haste, he threw the flowers toward the dresser quickly followed by his duffle bag, shoes, socks, and cardigan.  John braced himself as Glenn, already overwhelmed with lust, launched himself at the doctor and began his enthusiastic assault.  Almost instinctively, his mouth went to John’s neck, sucking, kissing, and biting, trying to take in every taste and smell of John’s overpowering pheromones.

John moaned loudly and allowed himself to revel in the feel of the young man’s strong body and smooth skin.  Like most alphas, Glenn’s tall frame was accented by lean muscles procured through the most minimal efforts, a look that betas could only achieve through the strictest diet and exercise regime.  Being an omega, John was small but with his years of military service he developed enough musculature to easily pass as a fit beta at first glance.  No one had ever noticed his natural grace and athleticism was far superior to what a beta would possess, but that was all part of John’s well crafted illusion.  In fact, the only person in the world that knew his real name and that he was an omega was his sister who understood and respected his desire to keep his secret. 

“Oh Paul, you taste so amazing,” Glenn moaned with a low rumble.

John’s fuzzy brain struggled to understand who Paul was until he remembered that was the fake name he gave.  In response, John grasped the back of the alpha’s head and took a moment to stare into his dark, lust blown eyes before bringing him into a crushing kiss.  As he sucked on the alpha’s tongue, John let out a small whimper that seemed to make his partner grow even bolder and grab roughly at John’s ass.  Soon John felt himself being lifted and tossed onto the bed behind him. 

In an almost panicked motion, Glenn ripped away the rest of his clothing and stood at the foot of the bed, his erection furiously stiff.  John swallowed at the sight and instinctively spread his legs in invitation.  The only barrier remaining between them was John’s track pants that Glenn removed by grabbing the ends and pulling them off in one swift motion.  John snaked his hand down to finger at the rim of his hole, already wet and leaking, twitching in anticipation. 

“That is the sluttiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Glenn said with a low growl.  “You’re just dying for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Oh God, yes,” John replied, all sense of modesty completely evaporated. 

The alpha frantically crawled onto the bed and kissed his way up John’s left thigh.  Once his mouth reached the junction of leg and hip, he dipped his shoulders and lifted John’s legs onto them to bring himself closer to John’s soaking entrance.  When he felt his partner’s tongue laving and exploring his hole, John scratched at his back and bucked wildly, begging for more.  Eventually, John found himself being effortlessly flipped onto his stomach making him raise his hips in response and press his face into his pillow, his hands fisted tightly in the sheets. 

When John felt the young man’s engorged cock finally thrust into him, all remaining attachments to his rational mind disappeared. All that was left was the desperation to be filled and held by the strong body above him.  He was no longer a decorated war hero, a respected doctor, and beloved brother; instead he was the perfect complement, a piece of a whole to the man pressed inside. 

Glenn’s thrusts began to increase in pressure and go deeper when suddenly he began to expand.  John moaned happily at the feeling but the young alpha began to whine in panic. Although it took a few moments, John realized it must have been his first time knotting.

Gathering what wits he had, John spoke, “Don’t worry, love.  That’s just your knot.” When the alpha tried pulling out and found he couldn’t, John tried calming him, “We’re joined now . . . push in deeply and you’ll start coming . . . that’s it, relax . . . we’re going to stay like this for a while.”

When Glenn’s coherence caught up with him, he followed John’s advice and made short, deep thrusts until he began to spurt inside John.  The sensation of the hot liquid pouring within pushed John through to his own orgasm, spilling onto the sheets.  The alpha wrapped his arms around John’s chest and pulled him up to lean into his body.  With his right hand, Glenn clasped John’s cheek to turn him so their mouths could connect. 

Unlike the crazed kisses from earlier, they took their time and lazily explored each other’s mouths.  John let loose a keening when his hole began to flex and contract around the alpha’s knot.  Glenn dropped his head to lightly bite John’s neck as he began coming again at the omega’s urging.  After the alpha’s second orgasm, John moved his hand back on the man’s hip and guided their connected bodies to lie on their sides.  Once they were comfortable, the blissful young man wrapped his arms around John, holding him close as he peppered kisses along his neck and shoulder, whispering sweet words. 

John always preferred it when alphas used endearments as opposed to the heated dirty talk some employed.  Although he would never admit it, there were certain times John found the terms _slut_ and _bitch_ a turn-on especially when he was feeling particularly raw and primal, but particularly as he aged, the doctor found himself desiring the intimate words of a lover. 

 

 

_‘Dad, I don’t want to be bonded.’_

_‘It’s what everyone will expect, John.’_

_‘_ You’re _not bonded!’_

_‘No, but I’m a beta and I chose to marry your mother.’_

_‘Why do betas and alphas and women get to choose whether they marry but I can’t?’_

_‘You’re special, John. You’ll be able to choose any alpha you want when it’s time.  You could bond with an athlete or a millionaire or even a prince!’_

_‘But they won’t want_ me, _they just want an omega.  That’s all I’ll ever be.’_

_‘John . . . I suppose that never occurred to me.’_

_‘Of course not, it never occurs to anyone.’_

_‘Listen . . . I swear that you will never be forced to bond unless you want to.  I’ll figure something out and you won’t have to bond until you’re truly in love.’_

_‘You promise?’_

_‘Yes, I promise.’_

 

 

Stepping into his miniscule flat, John sighed and thought to himself, _back to normal_.  He thought his three day sex marathon would do something to cure his boredom but it came crashing back almost instantly.  Since returning from the war after being wounded, life seemed to have turned down the volume.  Not only was there the fear of death and injury, the adrenaline of saving lives in Afghanistan, John also had the constant worry that he would be discovered. 

Omegas were forbidden from serving in the military for three main reasons one of which was the constant presence of alphas.  Because of their size, intelligence, and dominating personalities, alphas were aggressively recruited for the armed services.  Many people believed that throwing an omega into the mix would cause a frenzy among troops.  There was also the fear of capture. It was a cold hard fact of life that black market omega trading still occurred and an omega captured during battle was likely to be sold to the highest bidder, never seeing home again. 

However, the main reason omegas could not serve, the reason people did _not_ talk about, was that alphas could not stand the idea of harm coming to an omega.  Although times had changed and the world was supposed to be equal, alphas still held most of the power and their concerns were the nation’s concerns.  The old ideas still persisted that alphas were natural protectors, betas were their inferiors, and omegas were their prizes.  As a pretend beta, John detested being treated as a second class citizen, and as an omega, he resented being treated like a precious flower.  He believed that despite only making up about 1% of the population, omegas were still citizens and possessed every right to fight for their country. 

If anything, John had proved it was entirely possible for an omega to have a long military career and not cause the unit to collapse or an international kidnapping incident.  He supposed now that he was invalided, he could go public, become a military omega advocate, but he quickly pushed that thought away.  Above all, John was a private man and did not want the media frenzy that would surely follow, not to mention the inevitable stream of alpha suitors that would come wanting to bond.  Young Glenn had been clingy enough and had John not snuck out while he was sleeping, the alpha would have probably resorted to begging or worse. 

Over the years, John had relationships with betas and even a few alphas but they never lasted more than a few months. He supposed it came down to trust issues. Since there was no one he had ever considered telling his big secret to, John walled himself off and made it clear that he was not willing to fully commit. For the sake of thoroughness, he even tried it with a woman but that was a complete no go.  Omegas were incapable of sexual attraction to women. Why? No one had ever figured out, but it was how things were.  

After two days of being back on his medication and pacing solemnly around his sad, little flat, John felt it was time to venture outside.  Grabbing his cane and a light jacket, he made his way to the park where he happened upon an old friend from med school. 

 

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” The young man asked with an almost nonchalance. 

“Sorry?” John asked, hoping he had misunderstood.

“Which one was it: Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Once realization dawned on John, he stole a quick glance at Mike who was barely concealing a bemused grin.  _You bastard_ , John thought viscously.  Stamford was always known to be the school’s matchmaker and it seemed that some things hadn’t changed.  As if his life weren’t difficult enough, John was being invited to live with not only the most beautiful alpha he’d ever seen but apparently one possessing a whip-sharp intellect as well. 

“Afghanistan.  Sorry, how did you-”

“Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you,” Sherlock interrupted when a young woman entered the room. “What happened to the lipstick?”

“It wasn’t working for me,” Molly replied sheepishly.  John had seen a variation of this exchange a thousand times; a woman pining for an alpha and being harshly ignored. 

The alpha certainly didn’t help matters when he added, “I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.”

The man’s attitude was just another sharp reminder of why John had remained unbound all these years: alphas, when not trying to woo an omega or a beautiful woman, were generally arrogant assholes. 

“How do you feel about the violin?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

As the man rattled off his impressive deductions, John felt a flare of danger he hadn’t felt since he was back in the desert.  Only alphas, the smartest, most intimidating alphas were able to raise that sort of excitement within John.  His common sense and dignity hated them with their massive intellects and egos, but his basest instincts craved their attention.

"The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker St."  With a smug wink and grin, the alpha disappeared, leaving John breathless. Although it was foolish and would probably end horribly, John knew without a doubt that he would be sharing a flat with the man.  


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was asleep.  John couldn’t understand how the man functioned with so little food and rest.  Instead, he seemed to stock pile the basic necessities in between cases like a camel.  They had just finished their third case together, three cases in two weeks, and John was exhausted but oddly content.  Once Sherlock had reported his findings on the case, he swept from the scene and immediately took John to his favorite Thai restaurant, eating like a man starved.  John supposed it was probably because he was. 

Once they returned to the flat, Sherlock stalked to his bedroom, abruptly shut the door, and passed out.  After the first case with the woman in pink and Sherlock had done the same thing, sleeping for twelve hours straight, the doctor in John grew increasingly concerned over the man, even slipping into the room to check on him every few hours.  However, in their mere two weeks living together, John had begun to think of Sherlock as the exception to most rules on normal living. 

After sleeping, eating breakfast, and reading the paper, John realized he had some welcomed downtime until Sherlock woke, so he decided to explore the flat.  Sherlock tended to keep little trinkets and reminders from his favorite cases as well as anything else he found particularly interesting, meaning John never knew what he was going to stumble upon.  Perusing the bookshelf, John was not surprised to find volumes of forensics, chemistry, and medicine but what did shock him was the large number of books on omegas. 

Picking up what seemed to be the most worn title John rolled his eyes when he saw it was _Angels on Earth and Other Theories on the Existence of the Omega Male_.  The large book, written 50 years before, was widely regarded as _the_ resource on the history of omegas; however, while beloved by alphas, it was mostly a joke to omegas and betas.  Theories on the origins and purpose of omegas ranged from an evolutionary dead-end to a race of other worldly beings living as humans.  Sherlock’s copy contained handwritten notes in the margins, dog eared pages, highlighted text, and a worn spine only supported by various repair attempts. 

Setting down the obviously beloved volume, John continued perusing, hardly able to suppress his laughter when he came across a small paperback from 1954 entitled _A Gentleman’s Guide to Courting an Omega_.  Flipping through the pages, John smiled as he read the tips on where to go on dates, holding open car doors, and picking out appropriate flowers.  Several sections stress that unless the omega intends to bond, the alpha gentleman needs to stay away during estrus or else he may do something he will regret.  _Although it is difficult, a gentleman always demonstrates restraint_.  

The chapter that shocked John was on appropriate displays of possession.  With bold, underlined words the author commanded:

_Even after bonding has occurred, **Do Not Collar Your Omega!** Not only is the practice illegal and a social faux pas, most progressive minded omegas will find the act offensive and will sour at your lack of tact and manners_. 

The passage was accompanied by an old drawing, probably dating back to the 1820s, of a tall, mustached alpha holding a leash attached to the collar on the neck of a young, beautiful – but miserable-looking – omega.  John shuddered, remembering how he saw that same picture as a child and decided that would never _ever_ be him.  However, despite how much he disliked knowing how omegas used to be treated, he had accepted the fact and decided to content himself to being glad he was born when he was.  What truly upset him was the passage that followed. 

_If you would have your omega wear a sign of your bond, consider gifting him with a ring, not a diamond stud that a woman might wear but a simple band made of the finest gold or silver you can afford.  However, this ring should fit on either the middle or index finger of his hand so not to be confused with the wedding ring of a man married to a woman.  You may even have your name inscribed on the outside of the ring so that your position is asserted even in your absence._

_This will allow your omega the chance to venture into public alone and even enter the workforce without being subjected to the advances of ignorant betas mistaking them for one of their own.  Ultimately, the gift will appeal to the sentimental nature of the omega and allow the man to at once feel beloved yet protected. Although only a recent trend, some alphas have even taken to wearing matching rings in order to allow their omegas an illusion of equality in the relationship._

John sucked in an annoyed breath and shut the book, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.  After clenching and then straightening his fingers, John huffed as he stood, placing the book back on the shelf.  He decided it was probably a good idea to stop reading since he was only upsetting himself but he was drawn to one more item.  On the floor, wedged between the bookshelf and the wall was a worn leather binder that piqued the doctor’s curiosity. 

To his surprise, the item was free of dust meaning Sherlock took it out of its hiding place with some frequency.  It wouldn’t be until several hours later that John realized his observation was due to reading an article about dust accumulation on Sherlock’s website. Opening the binder, John was shocked to see what appeared to be a scrap book of sorts.  The first few pages contained ticket stubs for the cinema, opera, and a boat tour along with receipts, handwritten notes, and even a broken violin string.  After a couple pages, the mementos abruptly stopped and were replaced with newspaper clippings.  The clippings began 14 years before and continued up until a few months prior all having some mention of a philanthropist omega named Victor Trevor bonded with a German billionaire alpha.   

The unexpected noise of Sherlock’s bedroom door opening jolted John from his reading, causing him to nervously snap the binder closed.  Luckily, Sherlock immediately ventured into the bathroom and did not look into the sitting room, giving John the opportunity to put the books and the binder back in place.  John wasn’t quite sure why he was feeling so guilty about having read something that was sitting in their common living space, but he could tell that the scrapbook was something very personal to the aloof detective. 

As John anticipated, Sherlock immediately noticed things had been moved in the room when he entered and he narrowed his eyes in disapproval, saying with an irritated voice, “You’ve been cleaning.  If you must resort to such a dull activity, please keep away from my things.  It’s very important to my process to be able to know exactly where everything is and how long it’s been there.”

John bristled at the tone, responding, “Sherlock, these are _all_ your things.”

Sherlock gave a dismissive wave as he quipped, “Then you best not tidy anything.  This isn’t the army, no one is going to punish you for unkempt quarters.” John relaxed at Sherlock’s attempt at empathy but apparently the detective was not finished, “However, your life will run much smoother if you give my books, experiments, and anything in my bedroom a wide berth.”

“As long as we’re setting boundaries, would you stop hacking into my computer?  I don’t see why-” John paused when he saw Sherlock rolling his eyes as he flounced onto the sofa.  “Sherlock, this goes both ways.  Please, will you leave my computer alone?”

“Fine, fine,” Sherlock mumbled as agreeably as he could manage.

John tipped his head slightly to the side and asked hopefully, “Do you mean that?”

“No,” Sherlock drawled in a low, bored voice. 

John’s jaw clenched in irritation and he decided a little teasing was in order for such petulant behavior.  Sitting in his armchair and crossing his legs, John asked with nonchalance, “So, you seem to have an avid interest in omegas.”

Sherlock snapped his head to stare at John and eye him skeptically.  After a long moment, he finally spoke, “Omegas are interesting.” 

John tried but failed to contain the small smile that crept unto his face as he replied, “Is it the way they smell?”

Sherlock scoffed derisively, “You cannot begin to understand the intricacies of alpha/omega scent patterns and their effect on brain function so I beg you not to embarrass yourself with such questions.”

“Oh, come now,” John facetiously replied. “I’m just trying to learn.  There must be something spectacular about them if _you_ of all people have spent so much time studying them.”

At that, Sherlock sat up and glared at John, apparently not liking his mocking tone.  Tetchily, Sherlock stood and paced the room while he gathered his thoughts.  Like a dam breaking, Sherlock launched into his speech, “Omegas outwardly serve no purpose biologically.  They’re small, overly emotional, easily dominated, and need constant protection.”

John began to protest but Sherlock motioned for his silence as he continued, “However, they manage to influence the most powerful men in the world.  With one sway of their hips, they can have whatever they want without giving anything in return except for this invisible bond that can only be sensed by smell.”

This time, John could not halt his interruption, “When you say biological purpose, are you referring to gender stereotypes? Women have children, alphas protect and lead, and betas perform menial tasks, that sort of idea?”

Sherlock sighed in exhaustion as if he were trying to explain quantum physics to a five year old.  Taking the seat opposite John, Sherlock slowed his voice and continued, “I’m talking about contradictions.  For God’s sake, they go into heat yet can’t bear children.  They have the power to make a man leave his established family without a second thought.  That completely violates all known kin theories!  Instinctively, a man’s obligations lie with his mate and offspring, yet an omega makes him drop them like they’re unnecessary burdens.  The role of the omega is the greatest mystery of all humankind.” 

Sherlock sat back, seeming satisfied with his explanation and grabbed for John’s tea on the table next to him. 

“They’re just men,” John added after a moment, wondering briefly why he was bothering to argue.  “People think of them as some kind of fragile, mystical beings, but it’s all hormones.  You take those away and they’re no different than anyone else.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and finished the rest of John’s drink before answering, “Of course you would think that.  You’re a . . .” Sherlock trailed off waving his hand.

“A doctor?” John asked.

“A beta,” Sherlock snapped in annoyance.

John’s insides lurched at the disdain in Sherlock’s voice, making him continue despite knowing things were only going to get worse, “Seriously, with an effective hormone suppressant even _you_ wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between an omega and a beta.” 

“Please,” Sherlock said dismissively.  “Functioning hormone suppressants are a myth.  If such a drug existed, pharmaceutical companies would sell it and charge a fortune.”

John sat forward and pointed a finger as his voice became more heated, “Major pharmaceutical companies are all controlled by alphas.  They have worked to suppress the drug for years and they will continue to using any means necessary.”

“I envy you,” Sherlock said unexpectedly.

“You envy _me_?” John asked warily.

“Not just you, all betas.  Things are so much simpler for you.  No one can invent an effective omega hormone suppressant so it must be the work of some alpha conspiracy.  There’s always some injustice to blame for everything.  The reason a beta can’t get a job or is rejected by a woman is always because of gender prejudice.  There’s no accountability. You have no idea the burden that comes with being an alpha.  So much is expected of us and when we fail, it’s because we’re defective, not living up to our potential.  Betas can do what they like and whatever accomplishments they achieve, they do so _despite the odds_.  The simple truth is betas are jealous of omegas.” 

“Jealous?” John asked darkly, rage boiling within him. 

“Of course, John.  You can’t honestly sit there and tell me that you’ve never desired to be an omega.”

“Actually, I can.  I have no desire whatsoever to be an omega,” John answered with complete honesty. 

“If that’s true then you are the exception to the rule.  There is a way of the world and although you call it stereotyping, I call it observation.  There will always be things that don’t go the way they’re supposed to but the majority of the time people are predictable.  Pass all the laws you want about equality but you just can’t do things your body wasn’t meant to.” 

John sat quietly for a moment and resisted the urge to punch Sherlock squarely in the jaw.  He finally took a deep breath and responded, “Maybe I should thank you.  I’ve always been curious as to what you alphas talk about at your supremacy meetings.” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened at the accusation, his face appearing as if he had just been slapped.  “Don’t you dare try to lump me in with those lunatics.  You’ve turned around everything I’ve said and are intent on slandering me.  If your simple, little mind could grasp what I’m trying to tell you, you’d see that I’m speaking as someone who _observes_ life and these are the things I’ve gleaned from it.” 

“Is that what you tell yourself so you can feel different from them?”  

Sherlock’s fist tightened as he snapped back, “I can’t possibly be a supremacist.  If I were, I wouldn’t have taken in a broken down, old beta as a flatmate when no one else would.”

The air seemed to fly out of the room and John thought for a moment he would be sick.  Instead, he composed himself, stood and straightened his shirt.  With a small twitch, he said, “Right,” and walked across the room. 

Grabbing his jacket, John opened the door and descended the stairs.  Behind him, he could hear a somewhat remorseful Sherlock beginning to say, “John, don’t-” However, John left before he could listen to anything else. 

 

_‘This is the third one.’_

_‘It’s alright.’_

_‘No it isn’t, Andrew.  You can’t keep going on like this.’_

_‘It’s for John.’_

_‘John is fine.  He’ll just have to cope.’_

_‘He shouldn’t have to!’_

_‘Either you put a stop to this or I will.’_

 

John wasn’t exactly sure where he was going but he knew if he stayed in the flat any longer, one of them would not be coming out alive.  Not wanting to visit his sister and not feeling like being cheered up by Mike, John went for a walk.  At first he stomped angrily, glaring at anyone that happened to meet his eyes but eventually the anger gave way to his usual state of desperate acceptance. _How could I have been so wrong about him?_ John thought dejectedly. Once he cooled down enough to form coherent sentences, he stepped into a coffee shop.  After ordering, he sat by the window and was lost in his thoughts until he noticed someone talking to him.

“Terrible shame that war.”

John looked up and saw a handsome ginger beta with green eyes pointing at a newspaper next to John’s elbow.  The man looked to be in his mid-thirties with a slight frame and soft freckles on his nose. 

“It’s even worse in person,” John said while he turned to open himself up to conversation.

“You were in the army?” The beta asked, his eyes lighting up with increased interest.

“Yeah, I just got back last month.  I’m a doctor so I didn’t see much combat, but I still managed to get myself shot anyway,” John said while not so subtly pushing the chair out next to him in invitation.  _Flirting_ , John thought to himself, _at least I’m still an expert at this._

The beta took the offered seat and placed a hand on John’s forearm.  “That’s awful.  I’m Sam, by the way.”

“John.  It’s not all bad.  Believe me; I saw others get a lot worse.”

 

Once John left, Sam’s number in his pocket, he continued on his walk eventually ending up in the park. It was a nice day out, a bit cold, but nothing John couldn’t handle.  After so many years in the desert, a cold wind felt like heaven.  John picked out a bench and sat down to read his newspaper.  However, in spite of all the distractions, his thoughts were still focused on Sherlock. 

He had honestly thought Sherlock would be different from all the others.  In the army, John was inundated by the constant borage of alpha chauvinism and gender superiority that would last until he showed his talent in the operating room.  It was amazing the transformation that would occur when he saved a man’s life.  Suddenly, he would no longer be some beta doctor to be ignored; instead, he was Captain Watson, a brave capable man worthy of respect. 

“Two weeks.  I think that might be a record for Sherlock.  I don’t believe anyone has made it past the 48 hour mark before storming out in an angry huff. I certainly limit my visits to a half an hour at the most.”

John looked up to see Mycroft Holmes standing in front of him, clad in an immaculate suit and holding the same umbrella as he had at their first meeting.  John counted himself lucky that Mycroft would talk to him in the park and not stage another elaborate abduction.

“I don’t know if that means I’m special or just incredibly dense,” John replied. 

“I think it means that you see past his personality.  He must have said something quite awful for you to have finally snapped,” Mycroft said, taking a seat next to John on the bench. 

John wondered how Mycroft knew where to find him but decided he was better off not knowing. Folding his newspaper, John answered, “He loves omegas.”

“That he certainly does.  I take it you finally had time to peruse his little omega shrine?” John nodded and Mycroft continued, “I suppose I’m to blame in some respects.  There is very little about Sherlock that could be considered _innocent_ or _endearing_ so I made it a point to never discourage him in his whimsical ideas about omegas.  He’s seen far too many vile things in his life so I never saw the harm in a little delusional thinking.”

“Who’s Victor Trevor?” John asked, deciding that if anyone knew it would be Mycroft.

The elder Holmes sighed and leaned back on the bench.  After a moment, Mycroft spoke with deliberate care, “Sherlock had a romantic relationship with Victor while they were in university.  I believe it started with Victor’s dog biting Sherlock’s ankle.” 

John smiled at the image of Sherlock interacting with animals. 

“Sherlock never had many friends but he and Victor hit it off immediately.  Victor, as you probably know, was an omega and a particularly beautiful one at that who had somehow managed to make it into his twenties without being bonded.  Apparently besides being beautiful, he was fiercely intelligent and independent.” 

_Of course, he’d have to be_ , thought John.  He knew Sherlock would hardly tolerate anything less than perfection.

“However, after a few months, things soured as Sherlock became increasingly possessive and began insisting on a bond.  Victor left him and ended up with an acquaintance of mine, a German industrialist with a keen interest in AIDS research. Together they’ve set up free treatment facilities in 13 countries and have raised over 500 million in donations.”

John sighed as he responded, “Let me guess, Sherlock didn’t take it well.” 

“No,” Mycroft answered with just a hint of sadness.  “Soon after he dropped out of school and tried to disappear completely.  He started in with drugs and petty crime, anything to keep himself distracted.  Despite being high most of the time, he still managed to solve a serial murder case that involved the city’s homeless.  I made arrangements for him to consult with Scotland Yard, but the officers were less than thrilled about working with a drug addict.  If it weren’t for Greg’s mediating and supreme patience, I don’t think it would have ever worked out.” 

John turned his head sharply and asked, “Greg?”

A slight blush reached Mycroft’s cheeks as he corrected himself, “Detective Inspector Lestrade.  I believe you’ve met him.”

“Yes, he’s a good man, very . . . patient,” John replied with a wry smile.

Mycroft coughed uncomfortably and stood, adjusting his jacket.  Once his composure was back in place, he reached out to shake John’s hand as he said, “I do hope I’ve given you something to think about. Although he is difficult, I believe Sherlock is worth the time and I think you’ll be good for him . . . and he for you.” 

John stood and shook the proffered hand.  As he walked home, John took the time to think about what Sherlock had been through.  For reasons he could not fully understand, he felt guilty.  Although he had always been upfront with the alphas he slept with, John could tell they were disappointed when he promptly left after his heat subsided.  However, John learned early on that he could not allow himself to develop a relationship purely out of guilt or else he would’ve bonded when he was 16 to that football player from his sister’s school.  If it came to the point of living and working together that John trusted Sherlock enough to tell him the truth, John knew he would have to be careful about it. Despite all outward appearances, it seemed the alpha was quite sensitive.

When he finally returned to the flat, Sherlock was waiting to greet him, a nervous look in his eyes. 

“John, about what I said earlier.  Sometimes, I’m not . . . careful with how I . . . I sometimes speak without considering . . . I didn’t mean what you thought I meant,” Sherlock stammered awkwardly.

John raised his hands and stopped him, “It’s alright.”

“It is?”

“I know you’re not a supremacist or anything horrible like that. After so many years in the army, I suppose I’m used to being on the defensive in regards to my gender.  I’d like it if we could stay friends.” 

“Friends,” Sherlock said softly.  There was an odd flash of something that passed over the alpha’s face before he nodded and continued, “Yes, I’d like that.”   

“Good,” John answered then took off his jacket.  Taking out the napkin Sam had written his number on and setting it on the table, John laughed softly, “I suppose things may work out in my favor.  I met a ginger bloke that apparently has a thing for soldiers.  Do you think it would be too manipulative to wear my dog tags on our first date?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to his usual spot on the sofa while John entered the kitchen to make tea.  Later when Sherlock spilled the tea over the napkin, ruining the number, John was naïve enough to think it was an accident.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to finish. I'm hoping to have the next one up much sooner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start with apologizing for the formatting. I've been battling the site for a while now but some things just won't work.

“I had sex with an omega in heat.”

Laughter sounded out loudly in the small flat, followed by shouts of “Yeah, well I had tea with the Queen!” and “I met Richard Branson and we went on a balloon trip around the world!”

“No, it’s true.  I met a bloke in a bar last week.  He seemed like a beta but after talking for a while, he tells me he’s an omega and he’s going into heat in a few days.  He then asked if I’d meet him at a hotel and help him _take care of it_.  I was skeptical but I went anyway and it turns out he was telling the truth.  I think he takes medicine or something so people can’t tell.” 

“That is a load of bollocks.”

“Yeah, if you don’t want to tell us where you were just say so.  You don’t have to invent a whole convoluted story.” 

“I’m not! He keeps being an omega secret.”

“And he risked everything for a few days of shagging _you_?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

His friends let out another round of boisterous laughter.  Glenn sighed and shrugged off his mate’s taunting. 

No one believed him.  Although, he had to admit, he hardly believed it himself.  Glenn had spent three days with an unbound omega in heat, no strings attached.  What’s even more bizarre was that it wasn’t some young omega out playing the field before he bonded, this was a man nearing forty.  He had a large scar on his left shoulder that looked to be a recent wound.  If Glenn hadn’t been so overcome with lust, he would’ve asked about it.  He was no medical expert but it looked like it came from a gunshot.  Who in their right mind would shoot an omega? 

That was another odd thing: when they first met, he seemed like a beta.  People had always said that omega hormone blockers were a myth but apparently that wasn’t the case because this omega could mask himself and probably had his entire adult life.  Why would an omega refuse to bond?  All his life, Glenn had heard about how amazing it is to be an omega and have a pick of the most successful alphas.  What made Paul want to stay hidden? 

 _This is a onetime thing.  Can you handle that?_ Paul had asked when they first met.  Glenn had readily agreed at the time but he knew it was no longer the truth.  Despite everything he had told himself, he was downright obsessed.  As he had left the hotel, the staff was quiet and respectful but he could see the pity in their eyes.  They knew he had been with an omega and that omega chose not to bond with him.  He had no delusions about himself, he knew an omega would never be interested in bonding with a mediocre alpha that studied English literature, so he dismissed their pity and counted himself lucky that the man had even looked at him.  However, he still wondered who he was and why he was being so secretive. 

“What’s the matter, _Romeo_? Still pining for your mystery omega?”

Glenn was brought out of his thoughts by his Eric’s taunting.  It had been months and he still thought about those few days.  His friends told him he would get a certain look on his face when he did.  Of course, they would take every opportunity to laugh at him for it.

“Yeah, well, that’s still one more omega than you’ll ever have,” Glenn muttered bitterly as two more of his friends took their seats at the table.  It was a warm spring day and most students on campus were lunching outside.  Eventually talk narrowed in on the match the night before and Glenn’s eyes wandered to view the people walking by. 

Suddenly, the young alpha shot out of his seat and breathlessly announced, “That’s him.”

He then took off at a spring toward a mismatched pair of men walking along the east side. 

\- - -

To say the case was an odd one would be a massive understatement.  When they arrived on the crime scene, Sherlock lit up like it was Christmas morning.  Six teenagers in a circle on the floor in the middle of a locked room, and Scotland Yard was completely stumped.  Anderson’s theory involving a satanic cult and a mass suicide was immediately dismissed by Sherlock as a _moronic waste of breath._   John did his best not to laugh at the jibe but Sherlock seemed to spot his struggle and gave him a knowing look.  They had made a pact not to giggle at crime scenes but sometimes it was almost impossible to keep. 

After the initial bump concerning Sherlock’s thoughts on gender, they actually functioned well together.  In fact, John liked to think of them as complementary forces.  John was no longer bored and missing the sense of excitement and fulfillment of the military while Sherlock has someone to impress and keep him grounded.  Even Mrs. Hudson had told John that Sherlock seemed happier with the doctor around and that they were _two peas in a pod_. 

One night John had decided he would stay in so he and Sherlock could watch movies and perhaps connect outside of crime solving.  Fifteen minutes into the first film, Sherlock announced he was bored and retreated to his bedroom.  Frustrated, John left for his sister’s only to receive a text two hours later from Sherlock asking if they had a back up fire extinguisher. 

Their current case had led them to the university that three of the victims attended and John was just trying to keep up as Sherlock strode ahead with his ridiculously fast walking that John should find annoying but didn’t.  Suddenly, the doctor felt an arm on his elbow and wheeled around to see someone he had dreaded running into. 

“Paul, it’s really you.  I thought I’d never see you again,” the young alpha said breathlessly. 

John sputtered, not knowing quite how to respond.  Finally he regained himself and asked, “You go to school here?”

“Yeah, I was having lunch and happened to see you walking by.”

John inwardly sighed in relief.  For a moment, he thought the young man was stalking him (it wouldn’t be the first time).  He tried to back away but Glenn’s grip on his arm tightened and pulled him in closer.  With a lowered voice, he spoke, “I know you said it was a onetime thing but perhaps we could go out for some coffee or dinner.  Nothing has to happen, I just think that maybe we could be friends.”

John smiled awkwardly and continued to twist in the alpha’s strong grip.  While trying to mask the panic in his voice, John answered, “That sounds lovely but I’m quite busy at the moment.  How about I call you if things settle down later on?”

Not taking the hint, Glenn took out his mobile with his free hand and replied, “That’s great. Give me your number and then I can call you so you have mine.” 

John stammered in response but Glenn kept going, “I’ve got you down as Paul but what’s your last name?  Where do you live? Is it nearby?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” John cringed when he heard Sherlock’s voice from behind.  He had hoped the detective would’ve continued walking as he usually did but apparently he had heard everything.  “Open your eyes! John is obviously not interested since he gave you a _fake_ name but you should’ve been able to tell by the way he’s refusing your advances and is trying desperately to wrench away from your touch.”

Glenn looked at his hand and noticed how tightly he was holding John’s arm.  He let go quickly, embarrassment flooding his face.  John hoped that would end things but Sherlock was not finished.  With a particularly vicious tone, Sherlock said, “Just know that John may be a beta twenty years older than you but he was a soldier and could’ve broken your arm given the chance.  Now, have a little self respect and let us get on with our work.”

Instead of anger or the expected humiliation, Glenn’s eyes widened in shock.  In a near whisper, he stammered, “You . . . that scar.  I didn’t . . . it makes sense now.”

They stared intently into each others’ eyes, John silently begging for cooperation and Glenn piecing together the implications of what he just learned.  Finally, he nodded his head and fished into his pocket for a slip of paper.  Quickly writing out his number, he placed it in John’s hand and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.  Call me if you want to talk.  People say I’m a good listener.” 

With a flood of relief and gratitude, John squeezed the alpha’s hand and mouthed _thank you_ before he turned and continued walking with Sherlock.  They were silent for a time until Sherlock chuckled, “The one night stands’ of John Watson.  Are they all psychotic or just the young ones? From the way he was carrying on, anyone would think you’re an omega.” 

“You’re a dick, you know,” John replied, using every ounce of strength to keep his voice steady. 

\- - -

Sherlock was beyond frustrated and he let John know at every available moment.  The case was rapidly growing in complexity and they seemed to be chasing a shadow.  Two days after their visit to the university, Sherlock was convinced they would find their answers at a night club frequented by two of the teenagers. 

When they arrived, John let out an audible groan: it was an exclusive place with a line of hopeful young people waiting to be let in.  However, Sherlock seemed to not care at all, striding confidently up to the bouncer who gave only the most cursory glance before stepping aside to let the detective enter.  John rolled his eyes: of course Sherlock in his tight purple shirt and ridiculously expensive coat highlighted by strong alpha pheromones was allowed without a second thought. 

Not surprisingly, when John tried to follow, he was met with a firm hand on his chest.  “Sorry mate, we’re at capacity.”

John tried stepping forward again, saying, “Yeah, I know, but that was my friend.  We’re only going to be in there for a minute.”

In turn, John was shoved back harder, the bouncer replying, “Then you can wait out here.”

There were some chuckles from the line and John glimpsed a tall blonde woman whisper something to her equally beautiful friend who giggled in response.  He could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment as he turned and angrily stalked down the alley.  It was little comfort but John knew that if he weren’t taking his suppressants he would’ve been all but rushed into that club and flocked with every alpha there. 

Clubs like that catered to the most attractive women, impressive alphas, and any omega they could get.  It was illegal to officially say it but everyone knew betas were not welcome.  But John knew well enough that at his age if he so much as approached an alpha club, he would be raped within an inch of his life.  Despite fervent appeals, the law still classified an alpha raping an unbound omega as _omega madness_ and not sexual assault. 

Taking out his mobile, John sent a text to Sherlock: _Couldn’t get in_. _Going for drink._   

He was not surprised when he didn’t get a response from Sherlock.  There were times, especially when Sherlock was involved in a complicated case, that it didn’t matter if John was even there.  All Sherlock needed was someone to bounce ideas off of and John was only a convenience.  Sometimes John wondered why it bothered him so much when he had spent so many years perfecting the art of blending in.  There were moments he fantasized telling Sherlock the truth just to see the shock on his face.  However, John knew that was not how he wanted his flatmate’s attention.  If Sherlock suddenly began doting on him and treating him like a special prize, it would only be his gender and not John.  Somehow, that was worse than the neglect.

A block away, John found an unassuming pub where he immediately ordered a shot and a pint. The place was small and seemed to cater to locals, allowing John to relax and try to forget about the obnoxious status obsessed youth looking down on him and his damn flatmate not giving a shit about what happened to him.  It was at the end of his second drink when someone sat next to him and offered to buy him another.  Without looking up, John nodded and mumbled, “Ta.”

“I have to admit this is the last place I would’ve expected to see you again,” the man said with a light chuckle.

John’s eyes shot up and took in the tall alpha next to him.  His chiseled face and precise hair cut shouted military but the lack of a tan indicated he’d been home for some time.  Next to him was an aluminum cane almost identical to the one John used to carry so he must have been injured.  John recognized him but was struggling to put a name to the face.  He had treated so many soldiers over his years in the army that it was quite common for one to recognize him and not the other way round. 

As John struggled with how to respond, the other man continued to smile warmly and held out his hand, saying, “Lt. Thomas Hammond.  I was shot in the thigh during a convoy.  You were travelling with us and performed emergency surgery.” 

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you-”

“Not covered in blood and dirt?” Thomas laughed.  “It’s alright.  I’m sure you get this all the time.”

 John took a sip of his pint and shook his head as he replied, “No, I have one of those faces that tends to blend in.  I’m actually shocked you could pick it out.”

Suddenly the smile fell from the soldier’s face as he spoke softly, “I’d know your face anywhere.  You don’t forget the man who saved your life.” 

Reflexively, John blushed and stammered, “I was just doing my job.”

“Hardly.  You ran out into enemy fire and dragged me to safety without missing a beat.  The doctors told me that if you hadn’t operated when you did, I would’ve bled out and died or at least lost my leg.” 

“You were still discharged,” John replied, trying not to stare into the man’s soft green eyes.

“Looks like you were too.  What happened?”

“Took a shot to the shoulder.  Apparently the army has no need of a surgeon with an intermittent tremor,” John said bitterly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be complaining when others have much worse to deal with.”

“No, I understand.  The injury isn’t the hard part.  It’s dealing with being so . . .” Thomas trailed off.

“Bored,” John finished with Thomas nodding in agreement. “I went from being the only thing standing between other soldiers and death to being a rundown beta with nothing to show for my life’s work.”

“That’s not quite true. I’m here, aren’t I?” Thomas reached out and placed his hand on top of John’s, his voice never wavering, “It may have been a job to you but to someone like me, your work means everything.”

John was taken aback and found he couldn’t muster an intelligible response. For a moment, he thought ruefully how Sherlock mocked him in these situations.  Whenever there was a chance to make John feel inferior, Sherlock jumped at it. 

Finally, Thomas took pity on John and moved his hand back to his pint, taking a long draught before saying, “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.  There’s a reason I usually drink alone.” 

“Do you ever have the dreams?” John asked not even stopping to think if he sounded crazy.

Thomas replied with a sigh, “Yeah, I get the dreams.  My therapist says I should keep a blog.”

“Oh yes, therapy,” John huffed.  Several military doctors had strongly recommended it but he couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone enough to be entirely truthful.  “I thought about it in the beginning but now my insomnia’s a moot point so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Thomas just gave a confused look so John elaborated, “My flatmate considers his body to be merely transport so things like food and sleep are only to be indulged in when absolutely necessary, and since I’m also his unofficial babysitter that seems to extend to me as well.” 

Thomas chuckled as he lifted his drink, “Here’s to distractions.”

John nodded and returned the salute, saying, “I’ll drink to that.”

After a half hour, their conversation had turned to politics and John was surprised to learn that Thomas was quite opinionated.

“Britain is falling behind the rest of Europe.  Our military presence in Afghanistan is indication enough that we bend to the will of the Americans.  It’s all the more exacerbated by the fact that our government lacks proper representation of our population.  82% of Parliament consists of alpha males when alphas only make up 39% of the male population and less than 20% of the population as a whole.  What are you laughing at?” Thomas asked at John’s giggling.

“ _You’re_ an alpha,” John replied teasingly.

“Yes, but there is a lot more to a man than his gender.  Despite what you may think, not every alpha has his head stuck up his arse.” 

John’s mobile sounded making the doctor roll his eyes and fish into his pocket for it.  The message read: _I’m done. Police are clearing out the club. Where are you? – SH_.

John shook his head at the signature, as if he would be confused as to who texted him that.  He replied: _Having a drink.  Be home later. – JW._

John added his own initials to mock Sherlock but knew the detective probably wouldn’t get the joke.  Thomas watched him as he finished his message and pocketed his mobile with irritation. “Problem?” He asked, trying not to pry.

“No, it’s just my flatmate,” John grumbled.  He then brightened and tried to change the subject, “So you’re saying you have no problem with _anyone_ joining the military?”

“Absolutely.  It took an embarrassingly long time for the military to accept betas and even longer to allow women.  The mere fact that they still forbid omegas is a testament to the outdated and prejudiced, pro-alpha agenda running rampant in the government.”

“You think omegas should be able to serve?” John asked, genuinely surprised and increasingly turned on.  He had never heard an alpha soldier speak about the issue with such conviction and open mindedness. 

“Of course.  People like to think about them as beautiful, delicate flowers but they’re still men.  My younger cousin is an omega and he’s no different than me, just a little shorter.  If the pharmaceutical companies would just release those hormone suppression drugs they’ve been holding onto for years and the government would rewrite the ridiculous rape laws then there would be no reason omegas couldn’t serve in the military.”

John was about to respond but his mobile sounded again.  Mouthing an apology, he took the device out and checked the message. _I’m hungry. – SH._

John rolled his eyes and replied: _Then go eat._

Almost immediately, he received another text: _I want Chinese food. – SH._

“Oh, for God’s sake,” John mumbled as he answered: _Go by yourself. I’m busy._  

Silencing the phone, John stuffed it back in his pocket and decided to ignore it the rest of the night.  Being left behind by Sherlock, again, hurt more than he wanted to think about at the moment.  It was at those times that John realized he would never be more than Sherlock’s bumbling sidekick.

“You’re a popular man,” Thomas teased.

“My bloody flatmate ditched me earlier and now he’s mad that I won’t go eat with him.  It’s like living with a child!” 

Thomas laughed warmly, “I once had a flatmate that collected his urine in jars and hid it around the flat.  Of course, I was not aware of this until one night I bring a date back and we’re snogging on the couch.  His hand slipped between the cushions and he found one.  I spent ten minutes trying to convince him it wasn’t mine but he left anyway and I got the reputation of being the weirdo that collects urine.” 

John giggled again, the alcohol and enjoyable company allowing him to forget the sulking petulance that would be Sherlock for the next few days. 

Just as they were trading stories of when they enlisted, the door to the small pub burst open and Sherlock stormed in, marching directly over to John.  Before John could say much more than, “Sherlock, what the hell are you-”

The detective grabbed him fiercely by the arm and attempted to pull him outside.  However, they were stopped when Thomas limped over to intervene.  There were no words exchanged, instead the two alphas stared daggers at each other, tension immediately filling the room.  The smell the two of them were producing with their pheromones was making John’s head swim.  Even with his hormone suppressants, he was still an omega and the aroma of a feral alpha went straight to his cock. 

His basest instincts were pleading with him to allow the two to fight it out and present himself as a prize to the winner, but John was never one to give in to such bodily requests.  While John knew Sherlock was capable in a fight, Thomas, although hindered by his leg, was still a royal marine and could flatten the detective without breaking a sweat.  Knowing that Sherlock would not back down, John placed himself between the men and told Thomas, “Sorry, I have to go, but I’ll call you.”

Without even waiting for a response, John left with Sherlock close on his heels.  When they were a block away, John finally turned around and began shouting, “You are the biggest cockblock I have ever encountered.  Just when I’m close to finally getting laid, you make it a point to ruin it. Every. Time.”

With a low growl, Sherlock shoved John forcefully into the alley and pinned him to the wall.  John’s breath caught in his throat as he locked on Sherlock’s ethereal grey eyes, dilated with lust.  There was a faint blush on his normally alabaster cheeks and his full lips were parted, the tip of his tongue just barely visible.  The heady scent emanating from his body was making John’s knees weak and he knew that if Sherlock wasn’t pressed against him, he would slide to the ground. 

The tension finally burst and Sherlock brought his lips to John’s in a brutal kiss as though he meant to inhale the smaller man.  As he tongue probed deep into John’s mouth, his hand forcefully grasped at John’s cock already straining against his trousers.  When John let out a small whimper, Sherlock pulled back and in a deep, husky voice, asked, “Is this what you want?”

John managed a breathless, “Oh God, yes,” before Sherlock pulled him back to the road where he hailed a cab. 

\- - -

When they arrived at the flat, John began moving toward Sherlock’s bedroom but Sherlock directed them upstairs to John’s.  Sherlock made surprisingly quick work of his own clothing and was naked before John had even removed his jumper.  For a moment, John was surprised at just how muscular the alpha was but then remembered that it was to be expected.  As John was soaking in the sight of Sherlock’s pale, gorgeous form, the detective sighed and rolled his eyes.  He then stalked over to John and quickly divested him of the rest of his clothes. 

Once naked, John affectionately wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him into a languid kiss.  Sherlock immediately deepened the kiss, adding his tongue so as to practically choke John on it.  John recoiled at the roughness and placed a soothing hand on Sherlock’s cheek, saying, “Calm down. We can take our time.”

However, the idea of slowing did not seem to appeal to the alpha who grabbed at John’s hips and backed him onto the bed.  After sitting with a huff of air, John scooted back so he lay propped on his elbows, spreading his legs wantonly.  That was usually all the invitation an alpha needed and his instincts would take over, but Sherlock seemed hesitant and agitated as if he wanted very badly to take control but did not know how. 

John made a small motion with his hand to beckon Sherlock over and when the detective obeyed, John placed his hands on the slim hips and looked up at him, trying his best to channel his omega puppy eyes.  He then looked down to Sherlock’s rather painful looking erection and blew teasingly at the head.  Sherlock shuddered and his hands shot out to grab John’s forearms. 

John took a moment to admire Sherlock’s alpha gift – as women tended to call it – and licked his lips in anticipation.  The cock was even bigger than most alphas and possessed a delicious slight curve that left John’s body aching in anticipation.  Feeling a tremor in Sherlock hands, John decided to be merciful and began running his tongue along the length. 

Just as he finally took the tip into his mouth to begin sucking, Sherlock roughly pushed him away.  Before John could say something, the alpha flipped him over and moved his legs apart to kneel between them.  Sherlock leant over him and reached into the nightstand, retrieving John’s embarrassingly still sealed bottle of lube and a condom. 

Sherlock placed the bottle in John’s hand and then sat back on his heels to apply the condom.  It took a moment for John to realize he was being told to prepare himself but it finally sunk in and he opened the bottle, coating his fingers.  He raised his hips off the mattress and reached back to work himself open while keeping his face pressed into the sheets. 

Even though he couldn’t see it, he could sense Sherlock’s intense, scrutinizing stare and felt his cheeks blushing red under that concentrated gaze.  The very act of opening himself like this was something he had not done in a long time.  In omega heat, his hole would stretch open willingly and dripped a natural lubricant, something he found humiliating when he was young but damned convenient as he aged. 

After he was able to comfortably move three fingers inside, John removed them and waited for Sherlock.  With a mumbled _finally_ , Sherlock grasped John’s hips and began pushing his length inside.  John gasped at the sudden flash of pain and dug his hands into the sheet, suppressing a scream.  Once he was fully inside, Sherlock paused, allowing John the chance to breathe and adjust. 

When John felt ready, he began rocking his hips, encouraging Sherlock to move.  The pain slowly gave way to pleasure as Sherlock’s thrusts began to hit his prostate.  However, John realized something was missing; in all the times he had imagined being with Sherlock, he had always wanted those long hands wrapped around him.  Reaching back, John took one of Sherlock’s wrists off his hip and guided his hand to his cock. 

Sherlock took the hint and began stroking him in time with his pounding, but John still felt something amiss.  When he realized what it was, he was almost sad; he was waiting for the knot.  Somehow John knew Sherlock would have an amazing knot able to tie them together hours, but in his current form, John could not coax the transformation.  Just before he came, John murmured into the pillow, _next time._  

\- - -

_“Once a day?”_

_“Yes, you take it once a day and no one will be able to tell.”_

_“They’ll think I’m a beta?”_

_“You won’t smell any different from betas and you won’t get your cycles.”_

_“What if I want them?”_

_“You have your chart, right? The drug will dissipate from your system fully within three days.  If you time it right, you can have your heat and then start the regimen again afterward.”_

_“Will Mum come home now?”_

_“No.  It’s just you and me now.  But remember John, none of this was your fault.  The problem was between your mother and I, not you, never you.”_

\- - - 

John woke slowly, the world piecing itself together as though it had broken apart the night before.   The spot next to him in bed was cold and left no evidence that Sherlock had ever occupied it.  John ran his hand down his body, sticky and itchy with leftover lube and dried come, and felt between his legs.  His body ached in a way it had not in over ten years.  At that realization, John groaned.  It had been ten years since he had sex outside his heat cycle.  Instead of the crazed flurry of passion that bled together into a swarm of blurred senses, John could recall every detail of the encounter.  There was the strength and dexterity of Sherlock’s long fingers, the low growl of his voice, and strange fierceness of his kisses.

In John’s imagination Sherlock was always a considerate, knowledgeable lover that would stare deeply into his eyes and purr soft words.  He wanted to feel Sherlock’s long limbs wrapped around him as they lay sated in bed, enjoying their own little world.  John wondered if Sherlock’s awkwardness stemmed from inexperience.  Had Sherlock been with _anyone_ since Victor Trevor? 

A small grin crept onto John’s face as he contemplated how he was going to train the alpha and guide him into the skilled lover John knew he could be.  Despite how ultimately anti-climatic the entire experience had been, it had somehow felt _right_ , as if they were meant to be together.  For the first time in John’s life, he imagined settling down, surrendering himself to another person. 

With concentrated effort and help from the bedside table, John rose to his feet and picked up his robe, sliding gingerly into the garment.  Cautiously, he clambered out of the bedroom and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.  As he waited for the water to heat, John brushed his teeth and took out his hormone suppressants that he masqueraded as vitamins.  Absently opening the bottle and bringing a capsule to his mouth, John suddenly stopped and wondered if he still needed it. 

Looking up into the mirror, John took in his tired eyes and wrinkles, a reminder that youth was falling behind him.  All his years of solitude and deception seemed to be catching up to him.  He wanted to stop.  He wanted to be able to breathe in his most natural form and not be scared of what would be coming for him.  Most of all, he wanted Sherlock to be by his side.  He didn’t know how the alpha would react when John told him the truth but he was excited and manically terrified.  There was always the option of just stopping his medicine and letting Sherlock discover it in a few days, but John decided it would be better if he said it.  If all else Sherlock would appreciate the candor.

Having made up his mind, John took a long, thorough shower, afterward dressing in his pajama bottoms and striped jumper.  He padded downstairs and found Sherlock at the table, looking through his microscope.    Without even setting the kettle on, as was his usual routine, John strode up beside Sherlock and placed a lingering kiss on his exposed white neck.  In response, Sherlock jerked his shoulder dismissively and did not look away from his work.  

John grinned at the challenge and in retaliation, wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s back, sneaking a hand down to cup his cock.  As if burned, Sherlock jumped from his seat and bolted into the sitting room, not even a hint of amusement on his face.  John entered the room and placed his hands on the back of an armchair, dread filling his heart. 

Sherlock paced and after gathering his thoughts, he began, “John, I don’t want you to have any misconceptions about what happened last night so I’m just going to tell you: I don’t want this to be a romantic relationship.”

John’s stomach dropped and a low, cold tremor swept through his body.  Sherlock, seemingly relieved that he had set aside their awkward situation, sat down in his arm chair and crossed his legs.  John could only gape, no words able to explain the anguish he felt.  Sherlock examined John closely and tilted his head to side, saying, “I’ve disappointed you.”

John smiled bitterly, “Good, that’s a good deduction.” 

Sherlock sighed and steepled his fingers under his chin, “You can’t honestly tell me you thought my actions last night were some desperate confession of love.  I was merely giving you what you wanted.”

“Tell me,” John asked, his voice wavering slightly, “what exactly do I _want_?”

“Sex,” Sherlock replied with a brazen matter-of-fact tone. “Sex with an alpha to be specific.  That’s what you’re attracted to.  Usually I wouldn’t give a damn who my flatmate shags but you’re a vital part of The Work and it will not do to have you distracted by men. The last thing I want is a _boyfriend_ of yours hanging about the place, especially another alpha.”

“So your plan was to give me a quick fuck to snap me out of it and then we’d go on like always?”

“You want more?” Sherlock, one eyebrow raised with thinly veiled disgust.

“God help me, I did,” John said softly.  He then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before taking a breath and explaining, “I’m not looking for random sex.  I want a partner.”

“Ah, companionship,” Sherlock replied as if the idea was beneath him.  “It’s really just a matter of perspective.  Think of it this way: we’re friends, we enjoy each others’ company, and we live in the same flat, if I can satisfy your sexual needs, there’s no need for you to seek out a _partner_.”

“That sounds awful.  One, there is more to a relationship than just cohabitation and copulation, and two, if I were to seek out someone purely to satisfy my sexual needs, it would not be you,” John snapped, his anger building rapidly. 

Sherlock clenched his jaw, trying to minimize the blow his pride just received.  Lowering his voice, Sherlock replied, “I realize there is a certain sentimentality your gender is prone to, but if you just think rationally then you would know that I meant only to help you.” 

“You arrogant sod,” John growled. “Just because you’re an alpha doesn’t mean you’re some kind of sex god.  If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly lacking for offered company, so don’t you dare think that you’re doing me some kind of favor by demeaning yourself so much as to have sex with the likes of me.”

“Had I known you were going to overreact, I wouldn’t have even bothered with any of this.  I find relationships dreadfully boring so you best put away any idealized imaginings you have of me showering you with affection.”

Sherlock’s words cut through John with devastating precision.  In a suddenly weak voice, John asked, “Do you feel anything for me?”

Sherlock cast his eyes downward and looked away.  That’s when John noticed the scrapbook wedged between the bookcase and the wall.  It had been moved since the day before, its dust gone – John hated that he kept such meticulous track of its position.  Apparently Sherlock had been reading it that very morning.  John realized that if he were a smarter man, he would leave the room and stop the fight, but John never backed down from a fight. 

“You don’t own me,” John said, breaking the silence.  “You can’t keep me as your pet and give me nothing of yourself.” 

Sherlock finally met John’s gaze again and huffed, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Is this what you did to Victor Trevor?”

At that, Sherlock’s eyes widened in shock and his entire demeanor shifted. John knew he had opened a wound and continued to prod, “Did you even love him? No, you _wanted_ him, all of him but you wouldn’t surrender anything in return.”

With his gaze narrowed, Sherlock snarled, “ _You_ are not Victor.” 

“No, I’m not,” John said plainly.  “I’ve seen the pictures; he was and still is lovely.  I don’t know what it was about me that reminded you of him but I’m clearly a poor substitute.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock answered.

“I’m your toy,” John said resignedly.  “I’m the toy you don’t want until someone else plays with it.” 

“I thought we just clearly established that I _don’t_ want you.”

Something inside burst and John shoved aside the armchair before stomping toward the stairs in frustration.  As he climbed, he shouted, “I can’t believe I was so stupid to think you were worth it!” 

Before he began packing his things, John stalked into the bathroom, kicked the door shut, and took his daily pill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. This just turned into the chapter that wouldn't end. I'll try to get the next one up faster. I realize I've said that before but know I'm always plugging away at it and have every intention to finish. Enjoy and please let me know if you like it.


	4. Chapter 4

A large crash startled John from his light slumber in front of the telly.  With a sleepy glance into the kitchen, he could see Harry stumbling to sweep up a broken bottle.  She was giggling slightly as she did it.  John could tell – hell, anyone could tell – she was drunk.  As quietly as he could, John settled back down and closed his eyes, hoping his sister would think he was still sleeping and let him be. 

“Johhhnnyyy!” Harry slurred.  John grimaced, briefly wondering if he could fake a coma. “Are you still moping?”

John sat up reluctantly and glared at the inebriated woman.  “Actually, I was trying to sleep.  You do remember what sleep is, right? Not all of us drink until we pass out.”

“Sleeping, moping, they’re the same thing,” Harry answered, laughing as if she had just said something hilarious.  “It’s been a week already.  I recovered from my marriage faster than you recovered from this _Sherlock_.”

“Yeah, well you always were the assertive one,” John mumbled.  “You do realize it took Clara quite a bit longer to bounce back.  She was a mess when you left.  It’s much more difficult when you’re the one being rejected.” 

“Clara rejected me first,” Harry scoffed as she flicked off her heels. “She could never accept who I was.”

“Clara rejected your drinking, not you, never you,” John countered.  While he would normally never broach the subject of his sister’s failed marriage and her alcoholism, he was feeling irritable and defensive.  “She only wanted to help you.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re the expert on relationships,” Harry slurred as she stumbled her way to the sofa where John had been sleeping the past week.  “I forgot, you’re the prized _omega_ , waiting patiently for his one true love.”

John scowled deeply in response but Harry continued, “It’s like something from a fairy tale.  Of course the fairy tales usually don’t involve anonymous sex marathons with 20 year old blokes picked up in bars.  Tell me again why I should feel sorry for you.

“Harry, shut it,” John snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

His sister only laughed harder and slapped him on the shoulder, “Johnny you don’t have to bring out the scary captain voice.  Don’t get so upset just because I’m not aboard your pity parade.  If anything you’re lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“You were ready to tell this Sherlock everything and make a lifelong bond, but he goes ahead and lets you know he’s a complete arsehole before you get the chance,” Harry chuckled. “Most people don’t find that out until their halfway through divorce proceedings. Just look at Mum and Dad.  If she would’ve said ‘That was a lovely date, Andrew, but you should know I’m a complete bitch,’ then he would’ve saved years of heartbreak.” 

John knew she must have been completely pissed because she never talked about their mother otherwise.  Just hearing his mother mentioned made John want to drink as well.  He still felt an intense pang of guilt whenever he thought about their parent’s marriage.  For all of Harry’s flaws, however, she never did blame him for it even thought he knew it was his fault. 

“Don’t look like that,” Harry drawled and swung her arm around his shoulder.  “Mum was trying to live vi-vicariously through us so she was bound to be disappointed.  I just wish I could’ve been there when you told her you didn’t want to be bonded.  Hell, I wish I had a video of it I could watch on repeat every Christmas.”

John only sunk his head lower as Harry continued to babble, “She was so full of herself when she found out you were an omega.  She would tell the neighbors _John’s an omega, he’s taking his time choosing an alpha, we’re considering a foreigner since Englishman are so dull, I always knew he was special, my family has a particularly high number of omegas._ That one was the best one, her taking credit for you as if she had anything to do with it.  I bet she never bragged about me.  It doesn’t matter that you go to the best law school in the country or you are the youngest partner of a top firm, noooooooooo unless you’re marrying some brilliant alpha and having babies, you’re just the lesbian daughter that no one talks about.”  Harry seemed to nod off for a second but bounced back suddenly with, “What was so special about this Sherlock anyway?”

John sighed as he answered, “He’s completely self absorbed, has no social graces, unrepentantly invades my privacy, treats people like idiots, and makes me angrier than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Sounds lovely.”

John rolled his eyes but kept going, “He’s also absolutely brilliant, a genius really.  He was able to deduce that you were a divorced alcoholic just by the phone you gave me.”

“M’not an alcoholic,” Harry slurred.

“He’s probably the best detective in the world but he doesn’t do it for the fame or money, no he does it purely for the thrill of the mystery.  Also, he knows what it means to be pained by boredom, to feel lack of purpose driving away at your soul until there isn’t anything left to live for.  Some days I feel like we’re two halves of the same whole, a perfect complementary force that doesn’t function unless both pieces are together.”

John glanced over at Harry, surprised to find her staring at him intently with her pale blue eyes that matched his.  For the briefest of moments, he thought he had broken through her drunken haze and she understood him, but that ended when she burst out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. 

John shoved her away and mumbled, “Fuck you.”

“Men are so damn complicated,” Harry taunted between gasps.  “That’s why I like women.  There’s no alpha or beta or weird invisible life bonds. Pussy is pussy.”

Harry followed up with some obscene tongue gestures that made John cringe.  Standing, John took Harry’s arm and dragged her to her bedroom, saying, “Alright, time for bed, Miss Social Drinker.”

As she struggled to take off her skirt, Harry kept talking, “Did I tell you about the Brazilian girl from last week?”

“Yes, several times,” John moaned as he helped her remove her jacket.

“She had the roundest arse I have ever seen!” Harry exclaimed before she tripped on the skirt that had fallen around her ankles. 

John caught his flailing sister and deposited her on the bed with a loud huff.  As he reached behind her head and unclasped the clip in her hair, she mumbled, “He’s no genius.”

“What are you on about?” John asked absently as he struggled with a stubborn tangle.

“You said he’s a genius.  Well, he can’t be no genius if he don’t see how great you are,” Harry muttered, sleep rapidly taking over.  Just as John was about to step away, she reached out and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close.  “I’ve always been proud of you, little brother.  You never caved in, not when Mum told you to and not when all those men begged you.  You were always the strong one, always did the right thing.”  

As soon as she finished speaking, Harry released John and passed out. 

\---

John stepped out of the taxi and squared his shoulders as he took in the familiar sight of 221B.  He’d been dreading having to face Sherlock again but he needed the rest of his belongings and perhaps some form of closure.  When he finally made his way into the flat, John was taken aback by the state of the place.  Where there was always a fair amount of clutter, the rooms looked as if a small tornado had been set loose. 

When John had first moved in, he noticed Sherlock had no alcohol whatsoever, so John decided to build up a respectable stock.  He wasn’t much of a drinker, especially when compared with his sister, but he enjoyed a glass of wine or dram of whiskey on occasion.  Even when asked, Sherlock never would join him and John supposed that was for the best; he didn’t want to see a Sherlock with lowered inhibitions.  That was why John’s heart dropped when he saw every single bottle of liquor empty, strewn about like they had been consumed in a rush. 

As he stepped further into the sitting room, careful of the broken glass, John saw the mess that used to be a neat stack of logs in the fire place.  A half-burnt chunk of leather caught John’s attention causing him to bend down and inspect the debris.  He closed his eyes and sighed when he recognized it as a piece of what used to be Sherlock’s Victor Trevor scrapbook. 

“Oh John, you’re here.  Thank God!”

John stood up quickly at the sound of his landlady’s voice.  Her kindly face looked tired with worry as she stood in the doorway wringing her hands. 

“Ever since you left, Sherlock just hasn’t been himself,” Mrs. Hudson explained, sounding close to tears.  “He started drinking and I could hear him throwing things at all hours.  When I came up to ask what was wrong, he shouted at me.  Four days ago he just up and disappeared altogether.”

“Wait, Sherlock’s gone?” John asked, dread filling his stomach.

“I tried calling that brother of his, Mycroft, but his PA says he’s out of the country and cannot be reached.  Then I called the police but when I mentioned his name, they hung up on me,” Mrs. Hudson said and that time did start crying.  “John, I’m so worried, you have to help.” 

John hurriedly crossed the room and took the elderly lady into his arms, rubbing her back to calm her down.  As ashamed as he was to admit it, John felt a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to forget everything and leave Sherlock to whatever he’d gotten himself into.  However, John was a soldier and a doctor, pushing aside his feelings to help someone else was ingrained in his character. 

“Alright, can you tell me when you last knew he was in the flat?” John asked making Mrs. Hudson brighten slightly. 

After gleaning as much as he could from Mrs. Hudson, John decided to go to the police in person and ask for their help.  However, Mrs. Hudson was right that they wanted no part in finding Sherlock.

“You can file a missing persons report but we are too busy to go out looking for Sherlock Holmes every time he goes off the grid,” the sergeant told him officially.  He then leaned forward and motioned for John to come closer.  “Just to be clear: even if I knew exactly which gutter he was dying in, I still wouldn’t lift a finger to help him.”

John stepped back and clenched his jaw while unwittingly his fist did the same.  Somehow the officer didn’t see it and continued, “I don’t know why you’re bothering.  I’ve seen the way he treats people, especially betas like us.  There’s never going to be any real change if we let alphas do whatever they like.  If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop now and save yourself the trouble.”

Pacing stiffly, John visibly struggled to remain calm and not jump across the desk to throttle the sergeant.  When he had regained some manner of composure, John went back to the desk, saying, “I need to speak with DI Lestrade.”

The officer rolled his eyes, “That’s not his division.”

John tilted his head in irritation and answered stiffly, “Call Lestrade and tell him it’s John Watson.”

When the officer continued to refuse, John slammed his hand on the desk causing everyone in the room to spin around and stare.  John looked about and after an awkward cough, pulled his hand back.  With a tight, barely restrained voice, John said, “Just . . .  do this.”

The officer nodded weakly and picked up his phone.

\--- 

_“Congratulations Mr. Watson, it seems your son is an omega.”_

_“What! John?”_

_“Yes, he went into heat today and unfortunately some older students cornered him in the toilets, but don’t worry, one of our custodial staff intervened and brought him here.”_

_“Where is he now?”_

_“He’s in the nurse’s office.  I’m not sure why but he seems rather upset about the entire thing.  Perhaps it’s just the shock.  You’ll want to take him home and make sure he stays in the house for the next couple of days.  In the meantime, I’ll be glad to help you arrange for a private tutor so he can at least finish his degree.”_

_“He has to leave school?”_

_“Of course, now that word is going around that he’s an omega, he would never get a moment’s peace.  Besides, he’ll want to bond soon anyway and school will be a moot point by then.”_

_“John won’t be happy about that.”_

_“He’ll adjust.  It happens sometimes that omegas are resistant to bonding but given time, he’ll happily choose a mate.  It’s in his nature.”_

\---

“John Watson,” DI Lestrade said with a slight smile. “Where’s your other half?”

John ignored the comment and replied, “Sherlock’s missing.”

The detective nodded, seeming unfazed and asked, “How long?”

“Four days,” John answered. 

Lestrade leaned back in his chair and put his hands together under his chin, a mannerism that was shockingly similar to Sherlock’s.  John couldn’t help but notice the man’s wedding ring.  Once Sherlock had told him that the detective had been separated from his wife for over a year but hadn’t told anyone, still wearing the ring to keep up appearances.  Sherlock implied that Mrs. Lestrade had left the beta for an alpha but John had his doubts.

“Did you file a missing persons report?” Lestrade finally asked.

John nodded and Lestrade dropped his hands, saying, “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.” Before John could say anything in response, Greg continued with a bitter edge to his voice, “I’m done doing things for the Holmes’ of the world.  If Sherlock doesn’t want to be found then maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t be looking. Besides, isn’t this Mycroft’s job?”

John sat dejectedly and answered, “Apparently he’s out of the country and can’t be arsed to help.”

Greg scoffed loudly, “That figures.  He’s talks a big game but it’s always his damned job that comes first.”

“He’s done this before?”

Greg crossed his legs and gave an exhausted, “Oh yes.  Did Sherlock ever tell you why he hates his brother so much?”

John leaned forward, his curiosity peaked. “No, he didn’t.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” Greg laughed to himself. “When Sherlock was in university, he dated some amazing omega, Victor something.  Anyway, Mycroft was making his way up through the ranks in the government at the time.  It came out that some German industrialist was looking to set up his base of operations in a new country.  Needless to say the prospect of Britain landing that deal was of great interest to the nation.  Mycroft found out that the man’s son, a renowned bachelor and philanthropist, was an alpha and seeking an exceptional omega.  Then Mycroft puts a plan into action.  He begins spying on his brother and finds out about Victor’s strong independent streak.  He then starts pushing Sherlock to bond with Victor saying the omega was likely to leave him if he isn’t aggressive.  Naturally, when things get rocky with Victor, Mycroft invites the couple to an event that the German’s son happens to be attending.  He makes the introduction, the Germans set up shop here, and a grateful British government rewards Mycroft with a lofty promotion.”

John sat back, the wind knocked out of him.  He could barely process what he was hearing and after a long moment, finally replied softly, “Shit.” Greg nodded his understanding and John continued, “I mean, _what the fuck?_ Right, so we really need to go find him.”

“You have to understand that Sherlock just _does_ this once in a while and I gave up a long time ago trying to be the hero.  Besides, he has you to come home to now and that changes things.”

John slumped slightly, guilt ringing through until his mind paused to think.  With a sudden anger, John remembered that he had nothing to feel guilty about because it was Sherlock that treated him like dirt, Sherlock that used and humiliated him.  Quietly, almost to himself, John said, “This isn’t my fault.”

“Of course it isn’t. He’s actually been better since you came along, but it seems that some things never really change.” Greg replied with the slightest hint of sadness.  “Now, do yourself a favor and stop looking. Go home and I’ll call if I hear anything.”

John nodded weakly and stood, heading for the door; however, he paused just before leaving, finding something inside him unwilling to take the last step.  Suddenly, he turned back and with his hands clenched, he said determinedly, “No, we have to find him.”

“John, look-” Greg began but John cut him off. 

“It’s true that I hate him a bit right now, and yes, he’s an annoying dick 99% of the time, but If Mycroft is too busy to help that means we’re the only people he has in the world."

Lestrade sat silent for a moment and stared at John, giving nothing away in his stern expression.  Finally, he sighed resignedly and threw his arms up, saying, “Fine, where do we start?”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm bad. I've been neglectful and this is only half a chapter. Believe me that I have every intention of finishing but some annoying life stuff has come up and it's gotten in the way of me writing. I can't thank you enough for your encouraging comments and I'll try to get the other half of this chapter up as soon as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

It was ridiculous when he thought back on it.  It was potentially the stupidest and most dangerous thing he had ever done, but somehow it worked out beautifully.  The man, well boy, if John was being honest, could not have been more than 18 but he was masterful.  If it weren’t for the fact that John was an omega, the aging doctor would’ve probably had to pay for a night with a man like that.

He was tall, John had to stretch on his toes to meet his lips, and his muscles were lean and compact, not an ounce of extra flesh.  His skin was the color of dark honey and hair so dark brown it was nearly black.  Somehow despite being in the desert, his mop of curls held a brilliant sheen and his skin was devastatingly smooth.  However, all of that paled in comparison to the magnificence of his eyes.  They were a pale blue that reminded John of a misty English sky just after the rain. 

John had carefully planned the encounter for months, taking leave from his unit, heavily concealing his location in order to meet up with an alpha he had never met.  Through a confusing series of a person who knew a person who knew a person, John had found a woman who guaranteed him an anonymous encounter with the finest, most discreet alpha.

He had rented a car under an assumed name and somehow managed to find the remote desert house where he waited two days for his medication to wear off.  When the young man finally did arrive, it was like something from an old film.  He rode up on horseback wearing a shemagh across his face, his clothing consisting of loose fitting robes nearly the same color as the sand.

When he entered the house, he sniffed the air cautiously and when he apparently deciding that all was well, began to undress immediately. Once he was naked, he stood still and gazed at John waiting for some type of reply.  John took in his flawless body and giant cock, already half hard, and gave a weak nod.  The man seemed satisfied with that and began to walk towards John. 

From across the barren room, John nervously fidgeted and began to ramble as the man slowly approached him, a predatory gleam in his brilliant eyes, “It’s Aasif, right? Hasti said you live on a farm. My granddad was a farmer; he let me drive the tractor once, but I got it stuck in the mud. Dad suggested I’d make a better doctor.  Do you speak any English?  I learned Latin when I was young but I’ve forgotten most of it.  I studied a bit of French in uni.  I went on a trip to Paris but I got lost-”

“Shhh,” Aasif hushed John with a finger to his lips, having finally closed the distance between them.  He then leaned down slowly, so close John could feel his long, dark lashes and mouthed the lightest, ghost of a kiss on John’s neck that sent shudders throughout his body.  John gasped when he felt the first touch of Aasif’s tongue on his pulse point. 

He wondered how much of his reaction was from the power of the alpha and how much was his own pent up frustration.  Since being deployed to Afghanistan two years earlier, John had not had sex once, too terrified to be found out.   However, three months earlier there had been a bombing near the hospital that shook the foundation.  John was one foot away from being crushed to death by falling debris.  It was then he realized his life could end any minute and he wanted to get laid during his heat one last time. 

Aasif made quick work of John’s clothes and seemed to effortlessly guide him to the mattress on the floor that was serving as a bed.  He began with, what felt like, a worship of John’s body, kissing softly, lovingly from John’s forehead to the bottom of his feet.  From there, his ministrations took on growing intensity as he went back over the places that had made John shudder and tremble, taking his time to draw out every gasp and moan the doctor would give. 

Somewhere in the fog of ecstasy, John grew concerned that he was being selfish and should return some kind of pleasure.  He made a clumsy move for Aasif’s cock but the young man quickly snatched his wrist and placed a kiss on the inside of his palm.  He then placed John’s arms over his head, indicating they should remain there and continued his exploration of John’s body. 

When John was finally reduced to a writhing mess, moaning with abandon and leaking from his cock and hole, the alpha took the doctor into his mouth and to the back of his throat.  John convulsed at the overwhelming sensation and came embarrassingly fast with little warning for his partner.  However, Aasif seemed pleased with the reaction and even gave a small smile as he swallowed.  Afterward, he immediately moved on to laving and probing John’s wet, pliant entrance. 

Unlike most alphas that practically slammed into John, Aasif took his time easing his massive erection in until John was pleading for him to move faster.  When he did finally knot, John felt as if they would be tied together forever.  Some part of him even desired it.  Over the next three days, he allowed his mind to wander of the possibility of binding with the man and staying in the desert. 

Desertion from his unit wouldn’t be a problem because under Afghan law, once the binding took place he would technically be Aasif’s property and would therefore flag all rights he had to British citizenship.  The military would probably not even raise a fuss since the embarrassment of having an omega serving without detection was not worth the fight to break a bonded couple. 

John fantasied about a simple life herding goats, or whatever the man did for a living, their days filled with companionable silence and their nights filled with passionate love making.  Even in his delirious, sex crazed heat, John knew the thought was complete rubbish.  Above all else, John knew himself and knew that abandoning his duty and bonding with a man he didn’t love were the two things he would never do, despite his frequent fantasies. 

After all was said and done, his heat having dissipated hours before, John sat on the ruined mattress, back against the wall and sipped at a cup of tea Aasif had made him.  The young man was cleaning himself in an old bath tub on the other side of the one room house.  After emerging from the water, he took a moment to inspect the nail scratches down his back John had provided and seemed to be pondering how they got there. 

John couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of a man his age doing that to a teenaged sex god.  Somehow, Aasif appeared to understand the joke and smiled in amusement.  When the young man took in the love bites and rug burns littering John’s body, their eyes met and they both broke down into loud laughter.  Once fully clean and refreshed, Aasif redressed into the robes he hadn’t touched since he arrived and knelt down next to John.  He leaned forward and kissed him with warm affection before leaving the house and riding home.

Lying in his bed in the flat on Baker Street, John pleasured himself to his favorite memory and his foolish romantic dreams.  However, just before he came, the man in John’s dream changed, dark honey skin transformed into pale alabaster and the soft, young voice deepened, asking, “Is this what you want?”  John cursed loudly in the dark as his seed cooled on his stomach.

 

The search for his absent flatmate was proving frustratingly fruitless.  Even with Greg’s help, they had failed to find the slightest hint of the detective’s whereabouts.  It turned out that Mrs. Hudson and the friendly restaurant owner, Angelo, were the small minority as Sherlock’s fans.  Most people that had connections with him through cases were grateful for his help but openly expressed a desire to do him bodily harm. 

One elderly woman whom Sherlock had solved the murder of her housekeeper, kindly informed John that _Mr. Holmes “was expressly told to never return to this estate_.”  To John’s infinite distaste, she continued by saying, “ _Now what is a nice, little beta like you doing chasing after such an unpleasant alpha?”_  

Even more disheartening was when John went to St. Bart’s and was reassured by Molly that she would _keep an eye out_ in the morgue.  _“Don’t worry, I know his measurements so even if the body is deformed, I can still probably identify him.”_  

Greg had asked officers around the department to provide any information they came across but John held little hope on that front.  Eventually John gave up on conventional means and turned to Sherlock’s homeless network with no success.  When he actually managed to speak to someone, the person would either completely deny knowing Sherlock or pretend to not speak English. 

After three days, John finally found a young woman who had helped them on a previous case. 

“Please, I’m worried about him.  He’s been missing for a week,” John pleaded. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the girl answered dryly. 

John sighed and reached into his pocket, fishing out fifty pounds and a card with his mobile number.  While placing the items in her gloved hand, he leaned in and locked eyes, saying, “Please call if you hear anything.  He’s not in trouble.  I just want to know he’s safe.  He’s . . . my friend.”

The girl nodded as if considering his words, took the money and number, then turned and walked away.   That had been two days before and John hadn’t heard anything. 

In between searches, John cleaned the flat to the point that it was immaculate.  He checked his phone and email for any messages from Greg or the people he had contacted.  He had sad, mostly silent meals with Mrs. Hudson.  And he avoided thinking about the possibility that he was searching for a dead man. 

To take his mind off things, that was when John laid down to think about his beautiful desert alpha and stroke himself to the memory.  Just as everything else in his life, Sherlock had taken over.  After washing himself more harshly than necessary, John was shocked when his mobile rang with an unknown number.

“Dr. Watson?” the small voice on the other end asked.

“Yes, can I help you?” John replied warily. 

“You told me to call if I heard anything . . .”

John sat up, startled, “Yes, of course, what do you know?”

The girl quickly gave an address and hung up before John could ask anything else.

After John relayed the information to Greg, the DI said he’d be over immediately and told John to prepare a medical kit.  Greg showed up in record time and didn’t even bother getting out only honking the horn to announce his arrival.  As soon as John closed the car door, Greg sped away and John held on for dear life. 

“I understand we’re in a hurry, but would you mind explaining what’s going on?” John asked as they took another sharp corner.

“That address you gave me is for a drug den,” Lestrade said grimly. “Sherlock’s probably been hiding there for days and paid to have his whereabouts kept secret.  Sherlock keeps his homeless network well compensated and for someone to leak information for free means that he’s in trouble, most likely an overdose.  We need to get there before someone decides he’s not worth the trouble and decides to ditch his body.  I can’t send a squad car or an ambulance ahead because if they get tipped off, the dealers will probably flee and burn the evidence.”

“Oh God, this has happened before,” John realized with a sinking feeling.

“Yeah,” Greg said darkly, “except last time Mycroft was monitoring him and had his _assistants_ rush in to the rescue.  Now that big brother is AWOL, we’re on our own.”   

In only a matter of minutes, they reached a dilapidated row of flats seemingly abandoned.  John stepped out of the car and looked about in confusion but Greg wasted no time, running to the back of one of the buildings and up a flight of rickety stairs.  John nearly tripped over himself in order to keep up.  The place was dimly lit but there were people, a lot of people to John’s surprise. 

Eyes peered out at them from rooms along the corridor, some scrambled away as they ran past.  When Greg reached a locked door at the end of a hallway, he wasted no time in kicking it in and yelling, “Scotland Yard!” as he held up his badge. That sent anyone conscious into a panicked bolt for the exit, clearing the way to a bank of mattresses occupied by those not able to move. 

Sherlock was easy to spot, his distinctive wool coat a dead giveaway.  Greg rushed over to his body as John got his first look at his friend’s state.  Sherlock’s usually slim features were emaciated and his skin as pale as a corpse.  His clothing was filthy and stained with blood and God knows what else. 

“He’s alive but he’s not breathing,” Greg said as he checked over the body.  “John, did you bring the adrenaline injection?”

However, John couldn’t move, he was frozen to the spot.  He’d seen hundreds, possibly thousands of injuries but it was the first time he couldn’t think of what to do.

Vaguely, he could hear Greg’s voice calling out to him, “John, did you hear me?”

When John still continued to stare, the voice became louder, “John! Answer me!”

Somehow, it was all still static compared to the icy grip Sherlock’s pale body had on his heart.  Suddenly, everything snapped into focus when he heard a commanding voice shout, “CAPTAIN WATSON! Treat this man, that’s an order!”

 

_‘Your mum is getting remarried.’_

_‘I know, Harry told me.’_

_‘ . . .’_

_‘Do you still love her?’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Do you think she still loves you?’_

_‘No.’_

_‘Then how can you still love her if she doesn’t return the feelings?’_

_‘Because that’s not how love works.  Sometimes it’s reciprocated and that’s wonderful but sometimes it isn’t.  You can’t control who you love and you can’t make someone love you.  The important thing is to keep your heart open and acknowledge the beauty of love when it exists.’_

_‘Even when it hurts?’_

_‘Especially when it hurts.’_

 

Sherlock’s stay in the hospital was in all reality quite brief but it felt like a lifetime to John.  Besides the number of drugs in his system he was dehydrated and malnourished.  The doctors said he was lucky to be alive and would have certainly died if John was any later.  All John could think about was that ghostly pale skin marred by track marks and bruises.  The very thought of Sherlock dying was enough to make John’s hand tremble and his leg throb.

That train of thought was even more disturbing because he knew what it meant and that was a truth he did not like to face.  The heart wasn’t supposed to love without the head’s permission.  By all rights, he should hate the man and use this as an excuse to leave him for good, but instead he sat in the hospital room and watched Sherlock’s breathing, waiting for him to wake up so they could go home. 

When Sherlock was released and John had settled him back in the flat, the detective was sullen and spoke at a bare minimum.  For the entire first day, he lounged on the sofa in his pajamas, watching John with an unreadable expression on his face. 

It was early evening when John decided to finally say what he had been contemplating since seeing Sherlock on the brink of death.  Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa, staring at the ceiling not even moving when John sat on the coffee table next to him.  John reached out and placed a newspaper clipping on Sherlock’s chest.  After a moment, Sherlock decided to acknowledge the action and read the article.

In his deep baritone, he said, “ _Famed Omega, Victor Trevor Receives Honor from UN_. Why are you giving this to me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it . . . loving Victor,” John said, noting a slight twitch on Sherlock’s features.  “No one gets to tell you who to be in love with and no one gets to take it away.” 

Sherlock shook his head slightly, “John, I’m not-”

“No one.  Not Mycroft, not some German billionaire, and not even Victor himself,” John pressed on. “Just as you can’t stop me from loving you.” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened at that and he seemed to struggle to find a response so John continued, “If this friendship is going to function that means some compromise on your part.”

Sherlock stared in slight confusion.  “I am going to date and, yes, bring a man home once in a while but you cannot act like a territorial alpha jackass.” 

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something in response but seemed to think better of it and nodded.  “Good,” John said curtly. “Also, you are not going to demean me because of my gender. I would prefer that you don’t demean me entirely but I’m not asking for the impossible here.”

After a long moment of silence, Sherlock said weakly, “Does this mean you’re staying?”

John’s face softened and he replied with a small chuckle, “Yes, God help me, I’m staying.”

Sherlock sat up and a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.  Tentatively, he reached out a pale hand and said, “John, I need-”

However, he was cut off when the entire flat was jolted by an explosion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I don't think there is any way I can apologize enough for how long this chapter took. If it's any consolation, my hard drive died and I lost all my data from the past 4 years. So I lost my notes about all my fanfics. With being busy with work and mourning the loss of my computer, I pouted and refused to write. I'm sorry. I have every intention of finishing this story so please hold fast. The comments I've received have all been lovely and encouraging, for that I'm eternally grateful. Hope you liked the chapter and will stick around for the rest!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, I apologize for the length between chapters but this turned into the chapter that wouldn't die. I've been writing and rewriting it for weeks trying to get the tone right. I just couldn't get what I wanted so I opted for cutting a huge portion of rewrites of moments in the Great Game and instead added only the important changes. I figured that we all know the episode so a recap on my part was unnecessary. I promise that the next chapter will be better and the story will pick up. Please stick with me on this and don't lose hope. I know I keep saying it but I know where I'm going with this.

Sometimes the smell could be overwhelming.  When Sherlock’s adrenaline was up, he emitted a scent that was startling in its intensity.  John was no stranger to alpha pheromones and their scent at times of duress, but Sherlock’s was headier, more potent than any other he had ever encountered.  It seemed somehow inappropriate that Sherlock’s scent would be the thing he was focusing on while he lie sprawled on the floor, Sherlock draped protectively across him, and broken glass strewn about them.  But since his ears were ringing and body numb with shock, he found the heightened alpha scent a welcome distraction.

After having been witness to countless explosions, John could mentally understand what was happening but making his body cooperate was a different thing altogether.  When his wits returned enough to make his mouth move, John said softly, “Sherlock, what happened?”

The words snapped Sherlock into attention and he promptly jumped off John, running to the windows to see what the explosion was.  John remained motionless on the floor, trying to will away the erection that had been inappropriately stirring.  After a few moments, John had collected himself enough to go downstairs to check on Mrs. Hudson.        

Later that morning, while John cleaned and Sherlock pointedly _didn’t_ clean, Mycroft strolled into the flat without the slightest hesitation.

“We’re alive if that’s what you’re wondering,” Sherlock said with barely masked disdain.  “You’ve done your brotherly duty so please do not feel obligated to stay for tea.”

Mycroft shrugged off the dismissal and took a seat in John’s armchair as if the doctor weren’t staring daggers at him while he swept up broken glass.  “As concerned as I am for your well-being,” Mycroft purred earning him a scoff from John, “I’m actually here to give you a case.”

“Not interested,” Sherlock replied without hesitation, not even taking his eyes away from the violin he had been inspecting for damage. 

“You don’t have any cases on at the moment and this shouldn’t be all that difficult, I just need someone to do the legwork,” Mycroft said while holding out an envelope that appeared to contain the case details.  When Sherlock continued to ignore him, Mycroft held the envelope toward John instead and said, “This is a matter of national importance.  A government employee has gone missing along with a flash drive containing top secret missile plans.”

Sherlock snorted derisively, “How clumsy of you, misplacing your things.”

Mycroft wriggled his nose in irritation and tried again to hand the file to John, who still refused to cooperate.  With a frustrated sigh, Mycroft set the papers on the coffee table, adjusted his waistcoat, and left but not before turning toward John and giving him an awkward head bow. 

After the door closed, Sherlock continued to stare at his violin and seemed to focus on a small nick on the back.  John stopped sweeping and looked over at him, waiting for some type of response.  When it was obvious Sherlock was not going to comment on his brother, John spoke, “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to where Mycroft has been?  You nearly died, and not Mrs. Hudson, Greg, nor I were able to get in touch with him to help you.” 

“Mycroft is not my keeper,” Sherlock replied flatly.  With the slightest hint of anger, he continued, “I don’t want his help and I don’t want him in my life. I’m not going to concern myself with his comings and goings.” 

John sighed and sat down across from Sherlock.  He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and began to speak carefully, “That’s understandable considering what happened with Victor. But isn’t it possible that your brother could be trying to hurt you again?”

“John . . .” Sherlock moaned, still not meeting his eyes.

“I realize you’re still mad about Victor leaving you, but don’t blind yourself to the fact that your brother might be plotting something.”

“Plotting something? Of course he’s plotting something, he’s always plotting something.  That’s his job: plotting, coercing, scheming, anything in the name of the commonwealth.  I’m not going to waste any of my time or yours deciphering the actions of the British government,” Sherlock said.  He then put down his violin and finally turned to look at John, saying, “As for Victor, you know nothing about him so I beg you not to make assumptions about anything that happened between us.  It’s over and I moved on long ago.”

“I would know something about it if you told me,” John said, still wounded that Sherlock didn’t deem him worthy of knowledge of the great Victor Trevor.

Sherlock gazed into John’s eyes, seeming to search for something behind his words.  In a soft voice, almost uncertain, he asked, “Do you _really_ want to know?”

 

 

 

 

Before John could even answer, the phone rang and Sherlock seemed to jump at the distraction.  Without delay they set out for Scotland Yard and found themselves launched into a series of murders, hostages, and bombings the likes of which would put the most notorious terrorist cells to shame. 

 

Shoes.  A hostage was strapped to a bomb at an unknown location with a set timeline and the madman had left them shoes as their only clue.  Sherlock seemed thrilled with the case and dove headfirst into examining the old trainers.  While John loitered in the lab, his mobile sounded and to his delight it was Thomas, the young marine he had met weeks before.

John walked to the other end of the room and took the call, while Sherlock appeared to not care.  As he chatted and flirted with Thomas, who had apparently grown impatient waiting for John to call him, John noticed Molly enter and introduce a nervous beta.  She introduced him as her boyfriend and Sherlock only spared one glance before blurting out, “Gay.” 

John sighed and told Thomas, “Look, something’s happening.  I’ll call you back.”

However, he was too late and Sherlock was already laying on his deductions about Molly’s boyfriend and she rightfully stormed out. John could only chide Sherlock with, “Well done, very classy.”

Sherlock seemed not to hear and continued examining the evidence.  After a long moment of silence, he stated, “His limp is fake,” without looking up from his microscope.

“What?” John asked at the seemingly random statement.

“The man from the pub you were talking to,” Sherlock said with mild disdain, “His limp is fake.”

“You think he has a psychosomatic injury too,” John replied, surprised that Sherlock hadn’t mentioned anything before.  “He did tell me he’s seeing a therapist.”

“No,” Sherlock said coldly, “I didn’t say psychosomatic, I said _fake_.  He was pretending he had a limp.  To what end, I don’t know. Now if you want my opinion, I-”

“No, I really don’t want your opinion,” John answered, his anger barely concealed.  “I thought I made it clear that you would stay the hell out of my love life.” 

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Sherlock answered softly, actually seeming hurt by the scolding. “Isn’t it kinder to tell you-”

“Kinder?” John cut off Sherlock yet again. “No, that was not kind and furthermore, what you said to Molly wasn’t kind.  There are some things people don’t want deduced, have you ever thought of that?”

“Many times,” Sherlock mumbled. 

“Somehow I doubt that,” John continued, his voice rising.  “You basically implied that her boyfriend was trolling for an alpha.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sherlock said, the hurt evident on his face. “His behavior was strange and it was clear that he was more interested in me than Molly.”

“Of course you would think that,” John said with a snarl. “You are so convinced of your superiority that you imagine every beta is tripping over himself with lust for you.”

Sherlock looked down and slumped his shoulders as he said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”   

“Perhaps not,” John snapped.  After a long moment of silence, John closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  Seeing Sherlock looking like a kicked puppy made him feel both guilty and angry at the same moment.  He feared he had been too harsh but, after all the awful things Sherlock had done and said, he couldn’t help feeling manipulated. 

Instead of pursuing the fight and lashing out even more, John wanted to have a moment to himself.  He zipped his jacket and made for the door.  Sherlock called after, “Where are you going? We have a case on.”

“Out,” John said louder than necessary, “I need some air.”

John paced on the sidewalk outside and tried to calm his fury in the brisk winter weather.  Once he started to breathe easier, he took out his mobile and rang Thomas.  The marine picked up on the first ring and John could hear wind whistling in the background. 

“Sorry about earlier,” John said. “I had to save my flatmate from himself again.”

Thomas laughed, “Who’d he insult this time?”

“A medical examiner with an unfortunate crush on him,” John said feeling immense pity for the woman especially since he knows what it’s like to pine for Sherlock Holmes.  “Apparently girls don’t like it when you tell them their boyfriend is gay.” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Thomas said with a chuckle.  “I figured that out when my sister brought her fiancé home for Christmas.  She said she didn’t believe me but they called off the wedding a week later.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you’re so attractive?” John said grinning.

“Is that what happened with you?” Thomas asked. “You were straight as an arrow until I stumbled into your life?”

John giggled loudly, making the people pass by look up at the noise. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well I’m sorry to inform you that women have never held my interest.  Will your ego handle the blow?”

“Only if you agree to a drink,” Thomas said cheerfully.  “How about tomorrow night?”

“I would love to,” John said, “but things are a bit chaotic at the moment.  I’ll call you when this is over.”

“Alright, but I’ll hold you to that,” Thomas said sounding genuinely disappointed.  John said goodbye and hung up, hesitating on whether he should go back inside.  

In fact, John was sorely tempted to just abandon everything, Sherlock, the case, but he knew it would never happen.  He was in too deep and it didn’t matter how many times Sherlock insulted betas, John was going to stay by his side and fight.  When he was with Sherlock, he was on the battlefield again, alive in a way that even sex in omega heat couldn’t touch.  If Sherlock was a drug, then John was an addict. 

He’d never felt that kind of attachment to an alpha before and it frightened him.  It frightened him enough that he wanted to run again and go back to the boring life he had after his discharge, perhaps even bond with Thomas, and forget he ever met the mad detective.  But he knew deep down that the game was indeed on and Sherlock would need him before the end.  So, John collected himself and went back to the lab.  

In all they ended up solving four _pips,_ as Sherlock called them, and saved three hostages. 

 

 

 

 

1\. a budding alpha poisoned with his eczema cream. it had been one of Sherlock’s first cases.   

2\. an alpha who faked his own death with the help of a car rental agency.

3\. Connie Prince, the woman with the omega brother, as she had proclaimed frequently on her show had died for the age old crime of threatening an omega.  He may have been twice bonded, old, overweight, and overly attached to a hairless cat but he was still an omega and apparently worth killing for.   

4\. a beta security guard with a love of astronomy and who happened to be an obstacle to those pulling off the largest art fraud in history. 

 

_“Out.”_

_“I only want to talk to him!”_

_“Well, he’s not interested.  Leave now.”_

_“Mr. Watson, please, I love him!”_

_“No you don’t.  It’s only lust.  Get out before I call the cops.”_

_“This isn’t fair! John is MINE! I claimed him, he should bond to ME!”_

_“That’s your hormones talking. Leave and forget this ever happened.”_

_“You fucking betas! You have no idea what real love is! I’ll be back. Do you hear that, John? I’ll come back for you, he can’t keep us apart forever!”_

_“. . .”_

_“Thanks, Dad.”_

_“I’m getting you a gun and you’re going to learn how to shoot.”_

_“Dad, I don’t think-”_

_“That wasn’t a suggestion.”_

 

Murder.  Andrew West had been murdered and his body was dumped on top of a train to be carried off like a pile of rubbish.  When he looked up from the tracks, John was not overly surprised to see Sherlock watching him, an odd little smile on his face. 

“You’re much smarter than you give yourself credit for,” Sherlock said as he approached. “Mycroft didn’t think you could solve this one.  He was actually quite put out that I gave you the case.  Kept saying how important it was for me to solve it.”

“So why didn’t you?” John said, trying to keep himself from smiling at a crime scene.

“What and cooperate with my brother?” Sherlock said with a scoff. 

John couldn’t help but laugh at Sherlock’s petulance and the detective even joined himself, perhaps realizing the ridiculousness of his own stubborn attitude. 

“So, Dr. Watson, where to now?” Sherlock asked despite already knowing the answer.    

“The brother-in-law-to-be,” John answered already walking in stride with his friend. 

John felt the strangest impulse to reach over and clasp Sherlock’s hand.  Although he would never admit it out loud, he was very proud of Sherlock and had never seen him look more beautiful than while he was solving these cases.  Moreover, Sherlock seemed almost happy; there was blood in the air and a criminal mastermind to catch. 

Except for the incident in the lab with Molly’s boyfriend, Sherlock had been on his best behavior and if it weren’t for the ridiculously strong pheromones, he hadn’t even been acting like an alpha.  John wondered if he had actually changed or if the complexity of the case was lifting his spirits.   Desperately, he hoped it was the former and the little flicker of hope he still held for them was burning brighter without his permission.

Not liking how his body had been betraying him and his mind wandering when it shouldn’t, John decided he had spent too much time with Sherlock and called Thomas once they retrieved the plans. 

 

“Heading out?” Sherlock asked without looking up from the telly.  He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, still clad in his coat since the windows had yet to be repaired.  John hesitated in responding.  He knew there was nothing wrong with going on a date and Sherlock had no right to act jealous, but his heart still ached with guilt. 

“I’m meeting up for a drink with Thomas,” John said as casually as possible.  “We’re out of milk, I’ll pick some up on the way home.”

“No,” Sherlock said, his tone still low and dull, “I’ll get it.”

“Are you sure?” John asked, still waiting for Sherlock to pout or rant.  “We also need beans.”

“No problem,” Sherlock replied, giving a small, forced grin. “Go out, have a nice time.”

Still, John hesitated. “Sherlock, are you sure-”

“Go,” Sherlock said with a huff of annoyance, “It’s over, rest easy.”

 

 

 

 

John finally turned and began to leave while Sherlock remained staring at the television screen.  

“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your call,” Thomas said cheerfully as they sat in a booth in the back of a quiet pub.  “I thought for sure you were involved with your flatmate.”

“No,” John said, probably quicker than necessary, “We’re just friends.”

“Really?” Thomas asked searching John’s face for any uncertainty. 

John hesitated and considered lying but decided on telling the truth, “There was a little something between us but it’s completely over now.  We would never work as a couple.”

Thomas stared a moment longer but then broke into a wide smile.  “Good,” He said taking a drink of his pint. “That makes this easier.”

John took a long drink of his own and nodded sluggishly.  The alcohol seemed to be taking effect quickly.  John supposed he was more exhausted than he thought.  After a moment, something odd occurred to him and he asked, “Makes what easier?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Thomas said with fake contrition.  “Now you really did save my life, so that’s why you’re going to get through this alive, but the next few hours are going to be rather nasty.”

John’s increasingly foggy mind was struggling to keep up as he mumbled, “Thomas, what are you on about?”

 

 

 

 

“It’s not Thomas,” the man said as he gently led John to lie down on the bench.  “The name is Sebastian.” 

 

“I gave you my number but you never called,” a taunting voice purred from the shadows.  Soon he emerged in an immaculately tailored suit that left him barely resembling the meek beta they had met the day before.  As surprised as John was, Sherlock looked dumbstruck so much so that John knew he was missing something. 

It was when the small man passed him that something locked away inside John began to bristle.  It wasn’t that omegas smelled each other like alphas do, but more like they sensed the other and recognized themselves.  Seeing as Jim was nearly the same age as Sherlock, the detective was probably overwhelmed with the pheromones the criminal was emitting.  

Sherlock’s arm that was once holding out the data disk had dropped limply to his side and his face lost all its earlier stoniness.  Jim smirked mischievously and strode past John as if he wasn’t even there and strapped to a massive bomb. 

“Now _this_ is quite the turn-up, isn’t it Sherlock?” Jim chuckled.  “Nobody is quite what they seem anymore.”  At that Jim finally turned and gave John a quick but knowing glance.  John had to utilize every ounce of self control he possessed not to rise to the bait. 

When Jim was at Sherlock’s side, he reached out and smoothly took the disk from his hand. “Let me take a look at what you’ve brought me,” Jim teased.  “Alphas usually bring flowers but I must admit I like secret missile plans much better.” 

As Jim prattled on about his funding of the cabbie and his criminal empire, John’s stomach churned.  It had all been some sick romantic gesture and just the kind of thing Sherlock would find endearing.  They really were perfect for each other, destined to spar and plot together the rest of their lives. Whatever had charmed Sherlock about Victor Trevor would be nothing compared to complexities of Jim Moriarty, the world’s only consulting criminal.    

When Jim finished his crazed villain’s speech, he placed his hand seductively on Sherlock’s chest and smiled as he said, “Our bond will be the rival of the entire world.  Now what do you say we ditch your beta dog and get out of here together?”

John couldn’t help the tears that were threatening to spill at the heartache he felt.  It made no sense, he was supposed to have shown his emotional superiority and have moved on, but every instinct in his body wanted to leap across the floor and rip Jim’s bony little hand off of his Sherlock.  The only thing keeping him from doing so was the fifteen pounds of explosives and sniper laser trained to set it off. 

John’s heart caught in his throat when Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.  He stared intently into Jim’s eyes and resolutely stated, “No.”

It took a second for the word to sink in but when it did, Jim and John sputtered at the same time, exclaiming, “What?” in unison. 

“You took John hostage,” Sherlock said with eyes narrowed and teeth clenched, exposing a barely restrained rage, “Probably a good move on your part since without that I would’ve shot you on sight.”

The shock of the moment gone, Jim’s mask had slipped back into place as he took in Sherlock’s words and calculated his next move.  Finally a hateful smirk tugged his lips and he laughed softly, “You’re a better bluff than I would’ve thought.  However, there’s one thing you can’t possibly fake.”

Jim proceeded to reach down and cup Sherlock’s crotch.  His eyes widened in astonishment when he failed to find the slightest hint of arousal.  Sherlock took advantage of the moment of confusion by wrapping his hand tightly around Jim’s wrist and pulling him close, their noses almost touching.  With his other hand, he took out John’s Browning and pressed the barrel to the side of Jim’s head. 

“Let me explain this so you can understand,” Sherlock snarled, “You. Repel. Me.”

In the blink of an eye, a dozen sniper sites appeared on Sherlock’s body and John assumed his own as well.  However, Sherlock seemed to either not notice or care and continued his stare down with Moriarty.  Of all the ways he thought he would die, being strapped to a bomb during a Mexican standoff was not one John had ever envisioned, yet from the look in the two _genius’s_ eyes, it was a growing possibility. 

Jim did not seem the least bit frightened by the gun in his face and instead stared at Sherlock with a slightly taunting smirk. Just when John could see the muscles in Sherlock’s hand begin to tremble, the silence was cut off by an obnoxiously loud mobile playing _God Save the Queen_.  Moriarty rolled his eyes and asked with mock contrition, “Do you mind if I get that?”

“By all means,” Sherlock said without lowering the weapon. 

Jim stepped back and fished the phone from his jacket pocket, answering with a sharp, “What?”

“No, I think it’s a little late for that,” Moriarty spoke to whoever was on the other end.  “Why should I trust any offer you make?”

Moriarty was silent as he listened, his eyes alight with fury, “Fine, but if this doesn’t work, I will skin him alive and make shoes out of it.”   

After placing the mobile back in his pocket, the smug smile returned to his face as if he had not appeared ready to kill a moment before, he said, “Looks like today is not the day we die.”

Jim then turned on his heels and began strolling out of the room, saying in a mocking high pitched squeal, “Until we meet again, my dear Mr. Holmes.”

Just before walking through the doorway, Moriarty waved his hand and the sniper sites disappeared from John and Sherlock’s bodies.  After a long minute of silence, Sherlock finally lowered his arm and rushed to John, ripping the coat and explosives from his body.  John’s head was pounding so hard he could barely make out Sherlock frantically asking if he was alright. 

Distantly, John was aware of Sherlock sliding the bomb to the other side of the room and running about to check the exits.  Just as his knees were beginning to give out from the loss of adrenaline and shock, he found himself held tightly against Sherlock’s lean body.  The detective was practically trembling as he murmured into John’s hair, “Did he hurt you?”

John, face pressed into Sherlock’s chest, could only reply, “mhmm fine.”

However, Sherlock did not seem to hear him and kept ranting, “Are you alright? Did he hurt you? I should’ve seen it, I should’ve been ready. I-”

John reined in his shock enough to shove him away and grab his shoulders.  Looking directly into the detective’s panicked eyes John slowly said, “I’m fine.”

Sherlock’s frantic breaths finally began to slow and his expression focused on John.  He leaned down and met John’s mouth in an achingly sweet kiss. This time there was no tongue being shoved into his mouth or possessive hands squeezing tightly, instead Sherlock felt as if he were cradling John in his arms, afraid to hurt him.   

When they parted, John looked around and said, “Sherlock, we can’t do this here.”

Sherlock tightened his grip on John’s shoulders and pleaded, “You have no reason to trust me and I’m not asking you to forget, but please know that I’m not scared anymore.  You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t, you’re different than him.  I’ll be good to you, we’ll be good together.”

“No, I mean we can’t do this _here_ ,” John motioned to the large pool room. “Remember: snipers, bombs, madmen?  Let’s call the bomb squad and go home.” 

At that, Sherlock finally began to return to reality and the crazed look in his eyes softened to his normal intensity as he gazed about the room and took in the situation.  John reached out tentatively and pried the gun from Sherlock’s hand since the detective had apparently forgotten it was there.  After John placed the gun in the waistband of his jeans, he took out his mobile and called Lestrade as he walked toward the exit. 

Before he had taken three steps, Sherlock was at his side and grasping his hand with a disconcerting desperation that John had no idea how to process. 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock felt the pain in his ankle before he knew what was happening. When he looked down, he was shocked to find a small, white dog attached to his leg, not wanting to let go.  As he yelled and tried to shake it off, he heard laughter coming from nearby.  When he looked up to glare at his unhelpful audience, he was met with the smiling face of the most beautiful man he had ever seen. 

“I think she likes you,” the young man said still giggling. His high cheekbones were accented with a slight blush from the autumn air and a small lock of blond curls swept across his forehead.    

“Should I be flattered?” Sherlock said, the pain nearly forgotten as he stared unblinkingly. 

“Oh, most definitely.  Vivian has distinctive taste, she only bites those with perfect breeding,” The young man said as he stepped forward enough that Sherlock was able to smell him. 

The scent was overwhelming.  He had never been that close to an unbound omega except the day the valet’s son had his unexpected first heat while he was playing with Sherlock.  It was before Sherlock had developed as an alpha and he had no idea what was happening until Mycroft came across them and called for the boy’s father. 

“The name’s Victor Trevor.”  He then whistled for the dog who stopped her biting immediately and leapt into his arms.  Victor nuzzled her fondly and said, “This is Violets Are Blue in Spring sired by Tundra Expedition, Westminster champion two years consecutively.  I call her Vivian for short.”

“Impressive specimen,” Sherlock said, taking out a handkerchief to wrap around his bleeding leg. 

“Indeed she is.  A gift from my grandmother for my 20th birthday,” Victor said proudly.  But with sudden concern, he bent down to inspect the wound. “Oh, but are you hurt terribly?”

“No, it’s nothing really,” Sherlock lied as he pushed his trouser leg back down.

“Good,” Victor smiled warmly.  “It would’ve been terribly embarrassing for you to have been injured by such a small dog.   

Sherlock could only gawk openmouthed as his brain scrambled with the presence of an omega.  Before he could say anything in response, Victor tilted his head to the side and asked, “Do you play an instrument?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you play a musical instrument?”

“Um, the violin,” Sherlock stammered.

“Elegant, classic. If you had said trombone I would’ve walked away,” Victor said with another giggle. “Are you proficient?”

“Very.”

“Good, nothing worse than mediocrity.  I’d like to hear you play. Do you live on campus?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said nervously and pointed in the general direction of his dormitory, “But I’m on my way to class.”

Victor rolled his eyes, “Don’t be boring.  Show me to your room.  I assume there’s a common area where Vivian can sit. Do you have a roommate?”

“No, I have a single. I’m sorry, what is it you want?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Show. Me. To. Your. Room,” Victor said with irritation. 

Sherlock shook his head trying to regain some of his senses and turned to go back to the residence hall. 

When they reached the dormitories, Victor gazed about the room and frowned, “Such meager accommodations.  I’ll talk to housing and see about finding you something nicer but I suppose this will have to do for the meantime. Now be a good man and take Vivian down to that common area and situate her on the sofa.”

Without even uttering a response, Sherlock found his arms full of poodle and was shoved out the door. 

When he returned, his heart nearly stopped at the sight of Victor naked, sprawled across his bed. 

“You have no lubricant,” Victor said accusingly. “Good God man, you’re not a virgin are you?”

Sherlock could only blush in response and try to avoid staring right at Victor.  The young omega rolled his eyes and looked about, saying, “So tedious.  Do you have any lotion? Unscented preferably.”

Scrambling, Sherlock retrieved a bottle from his dresser and handed it over to Victor who immediately handed it back, “You prepare me.  You have to be thorough since I only self-lubricate during my heat cycles.”    

Sherlock clumsily squirted lotion on his fingers and began pushing into Victor’s tight entrance.  The omega hissed in pain and kicked Sherlock’s shoulder, saying, “Careful, this requires finesse.”

Sherlock’s hands were practically trembling with the sensory overload but he managed to slow down and gently insert one finger.  However, he was inside for less than 30 seconds before Victor shoved his hand away and said, “Fuck! You’re bad at this.  Just let me do it.”

Sherlock sat back and watched in awe as Victor prepared himself, his hole opening obscenely to take in those slender fingers.  When the young man felt himself ready, he leaned on his elbows and sighed as he looked at Sherlock still fully clothed. 

“This isn’t going to work unless you get undressed.”

“Right, just let me . . .” Sherlock stammered as he clumsily pulled of his clothes. 

When he was finally naked, he nervously sat on the bed and reached out to touch Victor, who was watching him with a small, amused smile.  His skin was just as soft as Sherlock had imagined and sent even stronger waves of arousal than his scent.  With another impatient sigh, Victor sat up and took Sherlock’s trembling hand into his. 

“This really is your first time, isn’t it?” Victor asked softly.

Sherlock nodded, not meeting the omega’s eyes.  Victor reached out and gently clasped Sherlock’s face to draw him into a soft kiss.  He then trailed light kisses along Sherlock’s jaw until his reached his ear and whispered, “No need to be nervous.  I’ll take care of everything, just lie back.” 

When Sherlock was on his back, Victor straddled him and began stroking his cock with the lotion.  Once he was painfully hard, Victor lowered himself onto his erection and Sherlock gasped at the tightness and heat engulfing him.  Victor moaned and braced his hands on Sherlock’s chest as he began to move slowly. 

Sherlock came within two minutes but remained hard, much to Victor’s delight.  In all, he came four times that afternoon and Victor came twice.  Once they were fully exhausted, Victor curled up to Sherlock’s chest and softly ran his fingers across the skin as he spoke, “We’ll be good together.  You’re unusual, not like the other alphas.  I can’t stand boring people.”

* * *

_“You changed your major.”_

_“How did you know?”_

_“Not important.  Why did you change it? I thought we agreed that law was better for you.”_

_“I’m more interested in forensics.”_

_“Not this again.  You’ll be studying law.  I called Mycroft and he switched it back for you.”_

* * *

_“I don’t like this crime solving of yours.  For Christ’s sake, you don’t even charge.  People think you have some sort of fetish.”_

_“I don’t care what other people think.”_

_“Well, you should because I don’t want to be seen dating a freak. Oh yes, freak, that’s what they call you.  Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?  Now stop being such a bloody weirdo and get dressed for dinner. A tie this time and wear the shirt with the French cuffs, the others are too pedestrian.”_

* * *

_“What_ was _that, Sherlock?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“That bloke was chatting me up and you didn’t so much as take a swing at him.”_

_“You want me to fight someone just for talking to you?”_

_“You are an alpha and it is your job to defend my honour.  I’m an omega, men will always try to steal me away and it is up to you to demonstrate your claim.”_

_“Those are ridiculous, antiquated rituals and I will have no part of them.”_

_“You’re pathetic.”_

 

 

* * *

_“Happy Birthday, Victor.”_

_“What did you get me?”_

_“I bought it during my trip to Scotland.”_

_“A jumper?”_

_“It’s hand stitched by a woman who’s been-”_

_“You bought me a jumper? What the fuck!”_

_“You don’t like it?”_

_“Do I look like the type of man to wear a bloody jumper?”_

* * *

_“Tell me what you want, Sherlock.  I want to hear you say it.”_

_“I want you.”_

_“I know that darling, but tell me_ how _you want me.”_

_“I want you inside me.”_

_“What?”_

_“I want you to take me, here, now.”_

_“Sherlock . . . that’s disgusting.  You’re an alpha, you do not bottom.  I can’t believe you would ask me to do something like that.  Maybe you really are just a freak.”_

_“Where are you going?”_

_“Out. I need some air.”_

* * *

_“Sherlock, I’ll be going into heat in a couple weeks and we should bond then so it’ll be done before Mummy’s 50 th.”_

_“50? Why, she doesn’t look a day over 65.”_

_“Stop it.”_

_“Stop what?”_

_“Every time I try to talk about bonding, you change the subject.”_

_“Perhaps we shouldn’t rush into anything.”_

_“Rush? Sherlock, we’ve been together for five months.  Wait, is this why you suddenly left town during my last heat? You don’t want to bond with me at all, do you?”_

_“. . .”_

_“Say something! I swear you love that damned violin more than me!”_

_“What are you doing? Put that down!”_

_“There, now I don’t have to listen to your bloody music at all hours.”_

* * *

_“When will you two be bonding?”_

_“We haven’t discussed it.”_

_“People are beginning to talk.”_

_“People do little else.”_

_“Sherlock, I’m serious.  As an alpha and, more importantly, a Holmes it is of the utmost importance that you bond.  Do you know the odds of another omega ever being interested in you?”_

_“What about you, Mycroft? You’re an alpha and the older brother so shouldn’t the task of bonding fall to you?”_

_“I’m a mere government employee and already in my 30s, I believe that ship has sailed.  That makes it all the more important that you bond and soon.  Mummy is growing impatient.”_

_“Mummy will need to learn to live with disappointment.”_

_“She already has.”_

* * *

 

_“What did you think of the German?”_

_“He’s having an affair with his secretary.”_

_“Not him, the son.”_

_“He’s a dullard.”_

_“Yes, but he’s rich.”_

_“His father’s rich.”_

_“Same thing.  You saw how poor his health is, the company will be Gunter’s in less than a decade.”_

_“And he will run it into the ground if given any real power.”_

_“I doubt that since I’ll be running things for him.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m leaving you, Sherlock.  You’ve had your chance and frankly I’m just plain sick of everything.  I thought you were just eccentric, but the more I get to know you the more I see what a freak you are.  You’ll always be alone because you’re a pathetic weirdo and the sorriest excuse for an alpha I’ve ever met.  Gunter may be a moron but at least he’ll be man enough to give me what I need. I can’t believe I ever thought you were worth it.”_

* * *

 

Sherlock gazed through the microscope as if he waited long enough, the results would change.  He couldn’t believe it: John was an omega.  Everything about the man screamed beta from his clothing to his personality to his mannerisms.  Sure he was smart, certainly above average, but Sherlock found the differences in intelligence between betas and omegas was often times negligible. He was short but he was by no means delicate, which was probably due to his years in the military.  That was another puzzling thing: why would an omega volunteer for the army, especially when he was a skilled physician? 

Not in a million years would Sherlock have ever guessed that John could be an omega.  It wasn’t until they were having sex that the realization hit him.  It is said that smell is the sense most closely linked to memory and when John’s pheromones released during orgasm, Sherlock was assaulted with a sickeningly sweet scent that he had not experienced for 15 years.  After Sherlock pulled out, John quickly fell asleep with a small smile on his face but Sherlock felt as if he would vomit. 

It couldn’t be.  His John, his perfect, lovely beta John was actually an omega.  Just the thought of John lying to him, hurting him, humiliating him was too much for his heart to take.  John had been everything he ever wanted and to even think of him being similar to Victor was enough for him to want to rush back to the needle.  Scrambling, Sherlock needed to check if he was making some mistake, if his nose was betraying him.

He then remembered John’s insistence of the availability of omega blockers and went to search John’s bathroom.  There was a bottle of aspirin but nothing unusual about it.  Next to it was a vitamin bottle but the capsules were custom, definitely not mass produced.  Sherlock took one of the capsules and brought it down to his microscope.  He would have to run tests to find out what exactly was in it, but it was definitely nothing he had ever seen before.

Mycroft, ever the Big Brother, had prepared Sherlock a dossier on John when the doctor moved in, but Sherlock had never looked at it.  He didn’t see the point since he could read John’s life within minutes of knowing him and because he never accepted gifts from his brother.  Rustling through his papers, Sherlock finally found the document and there it was: Andrew Watson PhD, John’s father was a bio-chemical researcher.  John had probably been on the suppressants since he was a teenager.  In fact, Sherlock guessed that no one, except perhaps his sister, knew he was an omega.        

Since meeting Victor, Sherlock had obsessively researched omegas trying to find some reason for them.  Nothing about them made sense in the slightest: the heat cycles, the pheromones, and the bonding process, all without the ability to bear children.  Then there was the effect they had on alphas that was frightening in its intensity.  Sherlock had never felt so weak, so stupid as when he was near Victor, and the omega never hesitated to use it to his advantage. 

When Victor finally did leave him, he thought he was finally free but the self-hatred never stopped.  For years, a chemical high was the only thing that dispelled the loathing.  It didn’t help matters that Victor would send him every news article printed about his extraordinary life.  Sherlock saved them but only as a reminder of the person who had planted the loathing inside him.  Whenever he was feeling weak, Sherlock would take out the binder and read the stories to remind himself of Victor’s greed and vanity that he masked in charity.  It helped to know that he was not the only person sucked into the omega’s brilliant façade.  

Eventually, Sherlock tucked away the binder, showered, changed, and continued staring into the microscope as he waited for John to wake.  It took all his willpower to keep up an impassive expression as he forced John to hate him.  He thought it would be better if he went back to being alone, but he couldn’t have imagined the toll John’s absence would take on him.

 

* * *

 

The scent was unmistakable, the sharp, sweet smell that blanketed all other sensations and slowed his mind to a crawl.  Moriarty was an omega and Sherlock had been just as blind to it as he had been with John.  John. He may have been an omega but he was still the perfect, wonderful man that Sherlock had seen when they first met.  He honestly no longer cared that John had lied, he understood the necessity and even respected the dedication it must have taken.  

But John was in danger.  The _consulting criminal_ had the audacity to not only threaten John’s life but also to coerce Sherlock into bonding with him.  If John had been harmed in any way, he would use every resource he had into hunting down Moriarty and destroying everything he’d built.  He knew already that he could not live without John and he would not see him taken away without a fight. 

As he stood in silent standoff with Moriarty, there was a moment of doubt when he looked into the criminal’s eyes and saw a flash of madness, true unbridled psychopathy.  His hand trembled as he realized that this man would not back down and he would end not only his own life but John’s as well. Never had he been so glad to have his thoughts interrupted by a ringing mobile. 

Just as bizarrely as he’d appeared, Moriarty had left and Sherlock’s mind flew into a panic.  His only desire was to hold John safe in his arms, John who loved him and wanted him to be happy.  If it took the rest of his life, he would endeavor to convince John he loved him in return. 

In the end, they made an anonymous call to the police notifying them of the bomb and then took a cab home.  Once again they were in John’s bedroom, the doctor seated with his back to the headboard and Sherlock with his head between John’s legs, sucking and fingering him with abandon.  Sherlock had quickly found his prostate and massaged the gland as he swallowed John as deeply as possible.  John, who was to the point of incoherent babbling and moaning, began spouting words, “Sherlock . . . I’m not who . . . I’m not . . . a beta.”

The last rational part of Sherlock’s brain began to panic that John was about to tell him the truth.  To actually hear the truth from John would have been too much.  Sherlock knew the reality would come out eventually and they would have to deal with it, but he wanted to delay it as long as possible. 

Before John could say anything more, Sherlock pulled his fingers out and tossed him onto his back.  When he pushed his cock inside, John moaned loudly and held on for dear life.  Whenever he would try to say something, Sherlock would kiss him deeply, nearly begging for him to stop trying to be honest.  There would be a time for honesty but in that moment all Sherlock wanted was John, not an omega masquerading as a beta, but his wonderful, perfect John. 

John wrapped his legs tightly around Sherlock’s waist and ran his hands down his back.  Sherlock fucked him with abandon, with each thrust into his body he felt himself letting down the walls he had spent so many years constructing. When he felt himself near to coming, he reached between their bodies and began stroking John.  They came near simultaneously and Sherlock wrapped himself around John’s body, never wanting to let go.  


	8. Chapter 8

When John woke, he found himself wrapped in the limbs of an octopus.  The body was warm and smelled heavenly, but however much he wanted to stay in bed, his bladder had other plans.  When he attempted to move, Sherlock tightened his grip and whined, still asleep.  John sighed fondly and kissed his forehead, murmuring soothing words, and in one fluid motion, inserted a pillow into Sherlock’s arms and removed himself from the bed.  It was a maneuver he was forced to perfect over the years since he was no stranger to clingy bed mates. 

Luckily Sherlock took the bait and squeezed the pillow to his chest without waking.  As the late morning light streamed into the room, John gazed at Sherlock’s lanky figure and youthful face, thankful they were both still alive and together.  There had been an instant the night before when he truly thought he was about to die and Sherlock with him, but they had survived and John wanted to make it work between them.  In fact, he’d been so delirious with relief at being alive and overwhelmed with Sherlock’s pheromones that he’d attempted several times to tell Sherlock the truth about himself.  But thankfully, Sherlock was in no mood for chit chat and kept silencing him with his tongue. 

His tongue.  John smiled at the memory. He always knew Sherlock had a gift for eloquent speech but he had no idea the detective was capable of doing something that talented with his mouth.  Over the years, John had been with some incredibly passionate lovers but never had he been as responsive to someone’s touch as he had been last night.  His body ached, still stretched from repeatedly taking Sherlock’s considerable size, but it felt pleasant in its own way and was something John could easily get used to. 

After showering, changing into track pants and a dressing gown, and taking his pill, John wandered downstairs to put the kettle on.  As he took out his mug and waited for the water to boil, he was startled by a voice coming from the sitting room, “I’ll have sugar and cream in mine.”

John wheeled around and clutched at his chest.  Once he regained his breath, he snapped in response, “Mycroft, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Your landlady let me in,” Mycroft said, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.  “I read on Sherlock’s website that Andrew West’s killer had been found.  I’m here to collect the plans.”

“Of course,” John said. He had meant to ask if Sherlock had given Moriarty a fake disk but there had been other things on his mind.  “Sherlock has them somewhere; you’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.”

“Not a problem. Come, sit and we’ll chat until he hauls himself out of bed,” Mycroft said with a smile and motioned to John’s armchair. 

When the tea was ready, John reluctantly sat and looked about the room not wanting to make eye contact with the brother of the man he had been shagging all night.  Mycroft already knew far too much about him and John did not want his sex life to be knowledge of the British government as well.  The silence was finally broken when Mycroft purred, “From what I understand, you did most of the work on this case.  I’m impressed.  Perhaps you really are a match for my brother after all.”

John nodded warily.  A compliment from Mycroft was not to be taken without certain skepticism.  “I try to help when I can.”

“Yes, it appears there is quite more to you than what meets the eye.”

John glanced at Mycroft suspiciously and took another sip of his tea.  Feeling too uncomfortable, John rose and asked, “Toast? I’m making some, do you want any?”

“That would be lovely,” Mycroft said with a slick smile, “With jam if you have it.”

Mercifully, Sherlock woke before John was forced to engage in anything beyond small talk.  After 15 agonizing minutes of discussing the weather and condition of the roads with Mycroft, Sherlock finally descended the stairs from John’s bedroom wearing nothing but a bed sheet. John rolled his eyes as he thought, _so much for keeping things discreet._    

Sherlock was yawning, his hair a mess as he poured himself a cuppa and entered the living room to give John a kiss on the cheek.  When Mycroft coughed awkwardly, Sherlock looked up and glared at his brother.  Perching defiantly on John’s armrest, Sherlock snapped, “Go away.  I’m planning to shag John on that sofa and I don’t appreciate an audience.” 

Mycroft flinched, but quickly reapplied his fake smile, saying, “I’m merely here to retrieve the plans.”

“Oh that,” Sherlock said with an exaggerated eye roll.  He then stood, rummaged through a desk drawer, and tossed the data disk to Mycroft who caught it effortlessly and slid it into his jacket pocket. Sherlock returned to the arm rest on John’s chair and placed his hand on John’s back then said, “Now, leave.”

However, Mycroft made no move to stand and instead continued to eye the couple with an odd, forced smile.  “I have another case if you’re interested.”

“No,” Sherlock drawled resolutely.

“This isn’t a crime per se but I could use your _expertise_.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John could barely suppress a groan. _Come into my parlor, the spider said to the fly._

“What do you know about _female_ alphas?”

“They’re a myth,” Sherlock said resolutely.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve always thought, but there is a woman claiming to be one and she’s gaining quite a following.”

Sherlock couldn’t contain the glimmer of curiosity that spread across his face and Mycroft smiled smugly.  Reaching into his briefcase, Mycroft retrieved a folder and handed it to Sherlock.

“ _The_ Woman.  She’s certainly not modest,” Sherlock said as he perused the documents.  “She says she’s an alpha and her senses are so acute she can even smell male omegas.” 

“So by _male_ omegas, I’m assuming she believes in _female_ omegas?” John asked.

“Actually, she does not,” Mycroft responded. “She believes that females are either alpha or beta. Her theories are similar to the Wirths position.”  

 Sherlock nodded in understanding, but John was lost, “Mind explaining what that is?”

“I believe Sherlock could describe it best.”  

Sherlock cleared his throat and would not meet John’s eyes as he explained, “During WWII, German scientists conducted experiments on omegas and proposed the theory that they are a third distinct gender formally capable of bearing children.” 

John paused for a moment and then it struck him what Sherlock was referring to, “Wait, you mean those Nazi psychopaths that tried to transplant uteruses into omegas at the concentration camps?”

“Yes, while the methods were abhorrent, the theory still has many supporters. I personally find it quite farfetched but it’s the closest to an explanation for the omega heat cycle that’s ever been presented. And apparently, _Irene Adler_ preaches this to her followers.”

“You make it sound like a cult,” Mycroft said with a laugh.

“It might as well be,” Sherlock snapped back.  “People like this think of omegas as demigods.”

“And you don’t?” John replied, unable to stop himself.

Sherlock turned to meet his gaze and carefully answered, “I don’t.”

“Omega theories aside,” Mycroft interrupted, “Our concern is in regards to Miss Adler’s followers that are of a prominent position. She makes most of her money as an overpriced dominatrix and charges _beta_ women quite the sum to act as her submissives.” 

“What, are we talking parliament, royalty?” John asked.

Mycroft fidgeted and brought out another folder of photographs.  John took them and nearly choked, “Is that . . .”

“I’m afraid it is,” Mycroft said resignedly.  “She maintains a blog, a very popular blog, and she is threatening to post these photos on it unless female alphas are given official recognition by the government.”

Sherlock snorted in amusement, “I can imagine that’s not going over so well.”

“While you might have nothing but disdain for the traditions of the British government, the resulting chaos from this situation could be ruinous for the established order.”       

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Sherlock said with a scoff. 

“She’s a fake, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied bluntly.  “She’s manipulating and deceiving countless women, threatening to ruin their careers for her own gain. If this goes public, who do you think will be looked at as a leader by millions of women across the world?”

“So you want me to ruin _her_ career instead?”

“No, we believe if she is presented with evidence of her deception then that should be enough to leverage silence and the return of the photos.” 

“So you intend to bargain for her discretion?” John asked and Mycroft nodded.  “And you want Sherlock to prove all of this?”

“Yes, with his skills in deduction, he should be able to root out tangible evidence in one meeting.”

“All without directly involving the government, very clever,” Sherlock said and sat silence for a moment, deep in thought. He finally looked up and asked, “When can I meet her?”

“That depends. When can you shower and dress?”

“After I’ve fucked John,” Sherlock said with a casual flick of his hand, making John’s cheeks blaze in embarrassment. “How about an hour?”

“Fine.  I’ll make the arrangements and text you the details,” Mycroft replied as he gathered the files and stood.  “I’ll leave you to it.”   

Once the door closed, John started to scold Sherlock but the detective had jumped into his lap, lost the bed sheet, and was pushing his tongue into John’s mouth. He rocked his hips, grinding his growing erection against John’s similarly aroused cock.  Sherlock wrestled with John’s dressing gown and practically ripped his track pants off in his haste. 

With a sly grin, Sherlock dropped to his knees and took John’s entire length into his mouth.  John gasped loudly and sunk a hand into Sherlock’s raven curls.  Their first encounter had been so lack luster that John had assumed Sherlock was a selfish, unskilled lover, but, as he was finding out, the opposite was true. 

Sherlock made love like he solved crimes, everything was in the details.  He seemed to anticipate every one of John’s wants and kept him right on the edge until John was begging for release.  At that moment, he was flicking his tongue just inside the leaking slit of John’s cock with such precision that John could feel the arousal all the way in his toes. 

 

John was teetering on the brink of coming when Sherlock pulled back and leapt to his feet, leaving John a whimpering mess.  Instinctively, John’s hand went to his cock to finish himself, but Sherlock batted it away with a patronizing tsking sound.  John groaned loudly and called out, “Where are you going?” but Sherlock had already bounded up the stairs. 

When he returned a moment later with a bottle of lube, John asked impatiently, “Well, where do you want me?”

A small grin passed over Sherlock’s face before he pointed next to the chair, “On your back on the carpet.”

“Sherlock, what if it stains?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and spread out the discarded bed sheet with an annoyed, “Better?”

John huffed petulantly before complying and spreading out on the floor.  Sherlock was on him in seconds, sliding two slick fingers into his still tender entrance.  After a particularly loud moan from John, Sherlock teasingly told him, “Now it doesn’t matter to me, but if you value your privacy, you should keep quiet or Mrs. Hudson is likely to get an earful.”      

John sighed and grabbed Sherlock’s other hand so he could suck on his fingers. Since he was still stretched from the night before, John needed very little preparation but Sherlock still took his time massaging John’s prostate to the point that John felt he could come without being touched, something he’d never done outside of his heat. 

To his utter surprise, he did just that only a minute after Sherlock finally entered him.  He was so shocked that he pushed Sherlock off of him and lay still for a moment to catch his breath.  Sherlock, confused at John’s actions, reached a tentative hand out and actually appeared nervous.  He didn’t relax until John broke out into a wide grin and huffed, “You bloody genius.”

Sherlock then joined him with a deep throated chuckle that always sent flutters through John’s stomach.  While still laughing, John kissed him playfully and reached a hand down to Sherlock’s cock to finish him.  Sherlock came just as fast as John.

 

_“Are you John Watson, Andrew Watson’s son?”_

_“Yes, when can I see him?”_

_“There was an accident. Your father’s car was struck by another vehicle and-”_

_“Yes, I know that, where is he? I must see him.  He has an allergy to insulin and he wants-”_

_“I’m very sorry to tell you this . . . He died shortly after arrival.”_

_“No . . . that can’t be right.”_

_“I can take you to see the body.”_

_“This doesn’t make any sense!”_

_“Dr. Watson, if you would please lower your voice.”_

_“Why the hell was he even driving? He never leaves the village by himself!”_

_“I’m afraid I don’t have that information.”_

 

 

“Do you have a plan beyond just waltzing into her flat and asking to disprove her life’s work?” John asked as they walked to Irene Adler’s flat.  They had ended up having one more go in the shower before John coaxed Sherlock into dressing.  

“Of course,” Sherlock stated with a reproachful glare for John’s obvious question, “As far as she knows we’re here for a consultation.”

“In what?”

“Intimacy.  She officially makes her living as a relationship counselor.”

“And why are we seeing a counselor?”

“We’ve been together in a steady relationship for several years but have lost the spark.  She’s going to provide us with ways to spice up our sexual encounters.”

John couldn’t help but laugh since they had been in a sexual relationship for less than 24 hours.  The idea of a lack of variation seemed ridiculous when his current problems were chafing and rug burn. 

“I’m practiced in extracting information so let me do the talking.”

“Right. Just stay quiet and be a good little beta,” John huffed.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sherlock stopped walking and grabbed John’s shoulder, his eyes panicked. “I don’t think-”

“It’s alright,” John reassured with a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. “I’m just joking, but you should know I’m better at hiding things than you may realize.”

Sherlock’s features flinched slightly, but before John could decide what that meant, Sherlock started walking again and changed the subject, “We had an on again, off again relationship for two years while you were in the military.  When you were invalided home, we moved in together and are quite happy.  However, I fuss over you too much because of your injury and you want me to be more aggressive.”

“Ha!” John snorted in amusement.  “If you were any more aggressive, I’d break a hip.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Complimenting, actually,” John said as he caught up to Sherlock.

“Good to hear,” Sherlock grinned slightly and squeezed John’s ass.

“Careful, this is supposed to be a dull relationship,” John teased.

“Well, it’s difficult when you make that face.”

“What face? This is my normal face.”

“Exactly.”

“So you always have trouble restraining yourself around me?”

“The fact that I’ve only ravaged you on a street corner once is a testament to my self-control,” Sherlock replied with a smirk.

“I’ve never heard you speak so passionately before.”  

“I’ve never _felt_ this passionate before.”

John stopped walking, _never,_ but when he tried to say more, Sherlock called, “Keep up, we’re almost there.” 

 

When they did arrive at the posh flat, they were greeted by a young woman in a beautiful blouse and pencil skirt.  She smiled and asked, “Are you the 1 o’clock couple?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, his entire demeanor switched to that of a sweet, pleasant man.  “Are we late? I’ve forgotten my watch at home.”

“No, just in time.  Miss Adler will see you in the sitting room.”

As they walked, Sherlock placed his hand to the small of John’s back.  It was an oddly intimate gesture that made John fidget uncomfortably. Many times John fantasized about Sherlock being romantic with him, but he could honestly never quite picture Sherlock as a doting lover. His acting as one was so bizarre that it felt as if he were being touched by a stranger.

“You must know someone important,” the young woman mused.

“I’m sorry?” John asked, snapping back to reality.

“To get an appointment with her at such short notice, you must have friends in high places.”

“Family, actually,” Sherlock answered without hesitation.  “My brother likes to show off whenever possible.” 

“May I ask what your brother does?”

“I’d tell you if I knew but I’ve never been quite sure except that it involves the government,” Sherlock said with his best fake geniality.  “When I came to him for help he said he knew just the person.  Apparently, Miss Adler comes highly recommended among government officials.”

The woman gave a knowing smile as she purred, “Indeed she does.”

In the sitting room was an impeccably well dressed, thin woman with hair as dark and curly as Sherlock’s.  In fact, they looked so similar that John could almost swear they were siblings. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Irene said with a smooth, cultured voice.  She then planted a kiss to her assistant’s cheek and shut the door behind her.  “I’m sorry but I wasn’t given your names.”

Sherlock smiled brightly and shook her hand, saying, “This is my partner, John Watson and I’m Gregory Lestrade.”

John couldn’t barely restrain from twitching in irritation. Of course Sherlock would use someone else’s name and give John’s real one. 

They took a seat on the sofa, Sherlock sitting so close their knees touched, while Irene sat across from them in an antique wing-back chair.  Sherlock was all charm and grace as he explained their situation while John held onto his hand and played the part of the submissive beta.  However, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes when Sherlock said, “It’s just that I worry. He’s not a young man anymore and I don’t want to hurt him.”

Sherlock noticed the expression and squeezed John’s hand, saying, “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.” He then reached over and fussed with the collar of John’s jacket, adding, “He’s so stubborn sometimes.  I think all these years in the military have made him think he needs to be tough about everything.  Why won’t you just let me spoil you a little, darling?”   

John grumbled irritably and pushed back the desire to punch him.  He knew Sherlock was only acting in character but it was still degrading. 

Irene looked over her notes and leaned back, carefully contemplating what she was seeing.  After a long, silent moment, she rose and said, “I’ll be right back. I need to check on the kettle.”

Once Irene left the room, the unnaturally pleasant expression on Sherlock’s face dissolved into his usual steely countenance.  However, he did not release John’s hand and instead held it tighter.  They sat in silence for several minutes, Sherlock pressing soft kisses to John’s neck and massaging the back of his hand with his thumb.  He whispered, “You hate this.”

“It’s creepy,” John hissed, irritated with Sherlock’s obvious amusement. “You’re certainly enjoying yourself.”

“I just like watching you squirm,” Sherlock said with a nip to John’s ear.

“I’m going to kill you for this.”

“Is that so? Now I was thinking that-”

 Suddenly Sherlock’s eyes widened and when John turned around, he saw why.  Irene was holding the tea tray but was otherwise completely naked. 

“Wha – what are you doing?” Sherlock asked, without any shred of his usual eloquence.

“Spontaneity,” Irene said as she casually placed the tray on the coffee table and began preparing the cups.  “Break up your routine, do something unexpected.  You’ll be amazed how something as simple as _naked tea_ can incite your partner.”

Silence dominated the room as Sherlock tried to look anywhere than at Irene and John tried not to laugh at seeing Sherlock so flustered.  When she was finished handing out the tea, she sat crossed legged in a chair across from the sofa and sipped delicately.  With a small smile, she asked, “Now, what exactly are you looking for?”

“We seem to be lacking in _excitement_ these days,” John answered when he realized Sherlock was not going to speak. “I’m afraid that Greg is too-”

“Enough with the pretense,” Irene interrupted John with a wave of her hand and stared coldly at Sherlock. “What are you _really_ looking for, Sherlock Holmes?  Are you trying to prove there’s no such thing as female alphas so I’ll be cowed into silence?”

John’s eyes widened as Sherlock remained impassive but silent.  Irene set down her cup and continued, “I must admit, I’m disappointed.  For such a famous expert in deduction, I’d have thought that your master plan would involve more than just putting an omega in front of me and seeing if I notice.  Give me more credit than that.  I could smell him as soon as he entered the house.”

John’s stomach clenched as the first stages of shock set in. The state grew worse when Irene leaned forward and eyed John hungrily.  Her eyes then darted back to Sherlock as she purred, “And it’s sweet, too, his scent, strong, saccharine, and persistent, just like he is. May I ask why you two haven’t bonded yet? He may be taking suppressants, but eventually someone will stake their claim and take him away. Or did you not know?” Irene chuckled and looked over to John, “Oh, did I ruin the surprise, Dr. Watson?”

Bile rose in John’s throat as he struggled with a response.  Irene stared with a lascivious smirk and ran her finger across her blood red lips.  The predatory grin flooded John’s mind with memories of the alphas that had found him during his first heat.  On a Tuesday after lunch, he had begun feeling strangely flushed and excused himself to the bathrooms.  As he paced the vacant bathroom, the reality of his situation dawned on him and he began to panic. His smell, heightened by distress, attracted at least half a dozen alpha upperclassmen. They cornered him, shouting cat calls, pulling at his clothes until Mr. Llewellyn, the old, Welsh janitor walked in.  The little beta was quick to action, splashing a bucket of mop water onto the boys and whisked John away in the confusion.   

Since he was completely unprepared, John’s first heat had been miserable. With his small size, he had grown knowing he was no alpha, always assuming he was a beta, in fact, the idea of being an omega had never even crossed his mind.  He was confused and in agony without a partner to sooth him or even a sex toy to ease his raging hormones.  He had spent the entire three days in his room, crying, unable to find release. 

“Oh, dear! You’re trembling,” Irene laughed. “Am I making you nervous?”

John looked down at his shaking hand and began to struggle to catch his breath. He snapped when Sherlock tried clasped his hand and said, “John, look at me.”

However, he couldn’t bring himself to face what was coming next.  Instead, he jumped from the sofa and fled the room then the house, not stopping until his leg pulsed with a horrible yet all too familiar pain and he collapsed in an alley way.   


	9. Chapter 9

It was only a matter of minutes after Irene entered the room that the shorter man was running out.  Kate had to chuckle at how flustered he looked.  Whatever Irene had said, it worked beautifully.  With a loud thump, the taller man fell to the floor, the sedative taking effect almost instantly.  When Kate entered, Irene was snapping a photo on her mobile, a coy grin on her face.  She then placed a call, simply stating, “It’s done.” 

Kate handed her a dark blue dressing gown that she slipped into with her usual grace and elegance.  Once she tied the belt, Irene swept Kate into an enthusiastic kiss that lifted her off her feet.  Irene then unlocked her wall safe and placed the mobile inside. 

“It was so easy,” Irene said, looking down at the man in the coat, “I almost felt sorry for him.”

Before Kate could even suggest breaking out the champagne, the front door slammed open and men in unmarked black uniforms entered the room, whisking the unconscious man away.  Afterward, a small man in a very expensive suit strolled in and purred happily, “That was quick. I’m impressed.”

“Almost too easy,” Irene said with a shrug. 

“CCTV showed Watson _sprinting_ out of the building,” the little man said. “How did you manage to upset him that much?”

“It was simple once I figured out he was an omega and hiding it,” Irene said with a chuckle. “You should have seen the look on his face.”

“What?” the man said darkly, his mood suddenly reversed.  “You said this in front of Sherlock?”

Panic spread across Irene’s face.  “Jim,” she began to back pedal, “You said to cause a fight, get Watson to storm out. You never told me he was an omega.  He was keeping it a secret, so I thought that-”

“You _thought?_ No, you didn’t think!” the man shouted with such viciousness that Kate felt a tremor run down her spine.  “Watson is supposed to angrily leave Holmes, not run away in a panic.”

The other man in the room, a tall blond with a typical alpha build, took out a silenced pistol from his jacket and looked over to his boss for directions.  Kate’s guts clenched when Jim looked directly at her and nodded. With swift, practiced movements from the alpha, Kate found herself forced to her knees with a gun aimed at her head.  Tears began to stream down her face as she realized what was about to happen. 

“Failure was not an option, Miss Adler,” Jim said as he pointed another one of his guards to the wall safe.  “The code.”

“You can’t! Without that phone, I have nothing! I’ll be a sitting duck!” Irene yelled, her desperation seeping through.

“On the count of three shoot the P.A.” Jim said and the guard dug the barrel into Kate’s head.  Irene fidgeted as she glanced between the safe and Kate. “One . . .”

Irene dug her manicured nails into her palm.

“Two . . .”

Kate let out a small sob, her heart breaking with every millisecond Irene spent hesitating.  

“Thr-”

“1-6-2-9-5-4!” Irene finally shouted, tears forming in her eyes. 

Jim nodded to the guard who opened the safe.  As soon as the door was breached, the guard was shot dead by the booby trapped gun within.  However, Jim was unfazed and stepped over the body to retrieve the mobile.  He took one look at the password prompt and giggled as he typed.  He guessed correctly on the first try. 

“You really must find a new line of work,” Jim said with a high pitched sing song. “Using your lover’s name? I really expected better than such sentiment.”

As he left the room, Jim perused the photos stored and smiled wickedly. When his boss was gone, the alpha pointing the gun at Kate’s head withdrew his weapon and left as well.  Kate could only weep, her body wracked with shock and grief.  Irene fell to her knees in defeat. 

 

 

“John Watson, you need to come with me.”

John blinked wearily, his body sore and his head pounding.  Above him was an intimidating man in a black suit next to an all too familiar young woman typing away on her mobile.  John rolled onto his back and sighed, “Do I have a choice?”

The man sternly replied, “No,” and clasped John’s arm to help him up.  Once John stood, the man rifled through his pockets, taking John’s mobile and gun then shoving him toward the car.  John stumbled but soon found his footing.  Resignedly, he slipped into the luxury car at the end of the alley way.  The ride was silent except for the sound of Mycroft’s PA’s thumbs tapping lightly. 

After a few blocks, John asked with a soft voice, “Is Sherlock alright?” Predictably, he received no response.  He sighed wearily, “I don’t want to see Mycroft right now, if that means anything. I really, really don’t want to see him.”

At that, the PA looked up from her mobile and gave John a look he could swear was almost pity. 

John didn’t know exactly what awaited him at the hands of the British government but he knew he wouldn’t like it.  He was convinced it was no coincidence that Mycroft gave them that case and requested that John go along.  Mycroft was playing a game and John did not want to be a pawn.  If the government found him, he’d have to officially register as an omega and his anonymity, everything he’d been working on his entire life would be ruined. Mostly, they would want to know _how_ he had remained hidden all those years and everything his father created would be in jeopardy.

In a final act of desperation, John called out to the driver, “You’re an alpha, I can tell.  Listen, I may not look it but I’m an omega.  I’ll have my heat cycle next month.  Let me go and I’ll spend it with you.” 

The car then jerked suddenly into the next lane and Mycroft’s assistant shouted, “Keep driving, you imbecile. He’s lying.” 

John sighed and rested his head in his hands.  After taking a deep breath, he looked up and chuckled dryly. “For Twenty-five years I’ve been hiding, I suppose I should be proud I made it this far.”

Anthea, or whatever her name really was, paused in her typing and looked up at John, her face filled with regret.  She seemed about to say something, but they had arrived.  The driver came around and opened the door, but this time handled John like a delicate child, obviously rattled by the prospect of having an omega in his presence. 

John was escorted into the Diogenes Club and brought into a back room where Mycroft waited for him.  The driver handed over John’s mobile and gun.  He then fussed over John, showing him where to sit and even went as far as to settle him down in the chair and offer to take his coat.  Mycroft rolled his eyes at the gesture but the man only leaned in closer and asked, “Is there anything I can get you, sir? Do you need me to stay? I can-”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mycroft spat.  “Get out and report back to home office.”

The large man nodded and reluctantly left, his eyes never leaving John.  When the door finally shut, Mycroft switched over to his usual duplicitous smile and asked, “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

John only glared in response. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Mycroft replied, unfazed. “I assume your meeting with Irene Adler didn’t go well?”

John’s glare deepened.

“If it’s any consolation, she wasn’t supposed to expose you as an omega, she was only supposed to cause a fight so you’d leave Sherlock. Believe me when I say that I love my brother,” Mycroft said earning a loud scoff from John, “but the concerns of the nation come before him, before all of us. It is too inconvenient to allow you to continue in a relationship.”

John swallowed nervously as he realized what Mycroft was about to say.

“I’ll be blunt. You will help us track down who’s manufacturing your father’s drug and give us all information on who buys it.”

“Why the _hell_ would I do anything of the sort?”

Mycroft leaned back and crossed his legs, “Because you served illegally in the British military for over ten years.  When you enlisted you signed a document stating that your gender is beta male and every year you signed a medical evaluation stating you are a _beta_ male.”

“What could I put? There’s no box to tick for omegas.” 

“Damn it, John, this isn’t a laughing matter.  There are those who would see you court marshaled or even charged with treason.  Some want you publicly bonded as an example to others.”

 _Public bonding_. John shuddered at the thought.  The practice had been outlawed in 1860 when omegas were declared free from alpha ownership.  Even in the 19 th century before the official ruling, public bonding had lost favor and was only performed by extremist groups.

“They wouldn’t,” John said in disbelief.

“If I simply turned you over they would.  Your cooperation is the only thing that will allow you to come out of this unscathed.”

“It takes a certain level of selfish prick to be able to sell his brother’s lover twice in one lifetime.”

“I gave Sherlock another option but he was too stubborn to take it,” Mycroft answered bitterly. 

The realization of what Mycroft meant hit John hard.  After a moment of silent disbelief, he chuckled to himself, “ _God Save the Queen_.  How long have you been working with Moriarty that you’ve earned yourself a special ring tone?”

“Moriarty approached our agents in Prague and asked to meet with me.  He requested we meet overseas to discuss an exchange of information.  As an offer of good faith, he gave up the details of a planned terrorist attack in Cardiff.  When we were alone, he explained his interest in Sherlock and suggested a mutually beneficial arrangement.” 

John raised an eyebrow and Mycroft continued, “In short, he wanted Sherlock and we wanted you, he said he could make it happen.  I hate to think of the number of spies he has within the government to learn what he did."

Bile rose in John's throat, "And you seriously thought Sherlock would go for all this?" 

"Sherlock has two weaknesses: curiosity and omegas," Mycroft said with a sigh. "After Sherlock rejected you and bonded with Moriarty, you would be easy to bring in. It would work out favorably for everyone.”

"Everyone except me,“ John snarled. "Just out of _curiosity_ : is there anywhere you would’ve drawn the line? If he had asked for a coat of Sherlock’s skin, would you have obliged?”

Mycroft only turned away. John nodded knowingly. “So you’re scared of your little brother. This is what everything is about.  After I moved in with Sherlock and you figured out who I was, you couldn’t do anything without your brother finding out and stopping it.  You had to completely distract Sherlock and sell him to the most psychotic, controlling omega you could find.  What’s going to happen to Sherlock when he rejects Moriarty for a second time?”

Mycroft continued his silence and John nodded, “I see, so he’s as good as dead at this point.” John clapped his hands and stood up.  “Right, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Mycroft said firmly. 

“You’re going to have to kill me,” John answered with a matter of fact tone.  “I’m not giving you a single bloody bit of information about my father’s work or the omegas that use it, and I’m not letting Sherlock fall at Moriarty’s hands.  My gun’s right there: shoot me or let me go.”

Mycroft glanced at the weapon and stared back at John. 

"Do have it in you to kill an omega?" John asked mockingly. 

The seconds ticked by slowly as war waged in Mycroft's head.  Just as his hand began to move to the gun, raised voices sounded outside the room causing Mycroft to pause. John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 

"Sir, you can't go in there!" John heard an attendant shout.

"Scotland Yard! Open this door or I break it down," Lestrade barked angrily. 

After a moment of hesitation, the door was slammed off its hinges. As Lestrade stormed in, he tossed a bonze statue back to the attendant and yelled, "Be grateful that wasn't your head!"

"Greg," Mycroft said "What are you doing here?"

"Your assistant called me," Greg said.  "I can't believe you're doing this.  I told you to leave John and Sherlock alone."

"This doesn't concern you," Mycroft snapped, avoiding Lestrade's gaze.

"Kidnapping, coercian, and omega trading, I'd say this concerns me."

"The last time I checked, I didn't answer to the local constablry."

"You may control the majority of the British government but i promise  I will use everything I have to bring you down if any harm comes to John or your brother."

In an unexpected show of shame, Mycroft hung his head. 

Lestrade's face softened and he crouched down in front ofthe elder Holmes, placing his hand on his shoulder, saying gently, "This isn't you.  This isn't the man I fell in love with."

"It's . . . it's too late.  Moriarty has Sherlock, Adler outed John, I can't stop it."

"Of course we can.  Do you think there's a single criminal in England that can keep John from Sherlock?  You said it yourself, he's the most dangerous man in the country."      

John titled his head in confusion wondering what that meant. 

After a long moment of silence, Mycroft stood and handed John his gun.  "Taking Sherlock's tolerance to narcotics into consideration, we have little time until he wakes.  Once he speaks, he won't last long, so we need to act fast."

 

And act fast they did.  Mycroft rallied his troops of shadowing government figures and created a makeshift command headquarters in John’s flat. After only 30 minutes, Mycroft received a call from one of his agents.

“They found Moran,” Mycroft announced.

“Who’s that?” Lestrade asked.

“Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s top lieutenant. He’s former military, dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming. Went off the grid six months after his return to London and is believed to be responsible for over twelve assassinations.” Mycroft glanced at John and added, “He also befriended John under an assumed name and abducted him at Moriarty’s command.”   

“Where did they find him?” John asked, cheeks reddening at the memory.

Mycroft read through the information being sent to his mobile. “Just down the block. He’s killed a civilian. You should probably go take a look, Greg.”

At that, Lestrade groaned and gathered his coat.  John followed after and arrived with Greg while police sirens sounded a few blocks over.  In the alley way, three men in suits had Moran handcuffed and shoved against the wall. They were taking no chances on the former marine. About ten feet away, a man’s body was on the ground, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, probably from a broken neck. 

John could not bring himself to make eye contact with Moran, still embarrassed and bitter about being drawn in by the man.  Instead, he followed his crime scene habits picked up from Sherlock and bent down to examine the body. However, he immediately reeled back when he recognized the face.  Lestrade steadied him by the arm and asked so no one else could hear, “Do you know him?”

John couldn’t find the words to respond. He could barely find the strength to stand.  A wave of guilt and intense rage surged through his body.  Without thinking, he ran over to Moran and punched him as hard as he could, nearly breaking his hand in the process.  He would’ve done worse but Mycroft’s men restrained him.   
 

 

 

As Sherlock woke, it was to the worst headache he had ever experienced and as a former drug addict that was saying something.  His limbs were so heavy and sluggish, he could barely move.  The room was unfamiliar and the little light it contained burned harshly making him flinch away. When he did manage to open his eyes enough to make out basic shapes, he was unsurprised to see Moriarty sitting across the small bedroom perched on an old office chair.  He casually sat reading a book, not even paying attention to his captive. 

Sherlock tried to open his mouth to say something but his throat was so dry and sore, nothing came out.  Instead, Moriarty began to speak, still not looking up. “ _’Do I dare disturb the universe?’_ I can see why John liked this one, so romantic. But they can all seem charming when they want something.  So very charming right up until they slap a collar around your neck.”

Sherlock managed to croak out, “Who . . .”

“This is the bedroom of Glen Wortham, a university student and the alpha John spent his last heat cycle with.  You met him before, hapless fellow, don’t you think? But they’re all kind of sad puppies when an omega’s involved.”

Sherlock’s brain seemed to be functioning at a fraction of its normal capacity as he tried to analyze what was happening.

“What do you think of his dingy flat? I thought it was the perfect spot for a murder suicide.  John will be just devastated but probably not surprised.  He knows all too well that alphas are dangerous and not to be trusted.  Why do you think he gave the man a fake name? I mean, just look at this book.” Moriarty held up the worn copy of Prufrock and Sherlock could see _John_ written obsessively across the page. “Look at this flat,” Moriarty said with a flourish of his hand.

Sherlock gazed about and finally examined the room closely.  The walls were a collage of newspaper articles and photos of John.  All of the photos with Sherlock had the detectives eyes scratched out.  Sherlock then noticed an old, holey jumper pinned to the wall.  He remembered when he spilled acid on it and John had to throw it out.

“Is that?” Sherlock asked thinly.

Moriarty noticed what he was looking at and nodded, “Oh, yes. When he’s not in class, Glen likes to stalk your flat and go through your trash. That’s creepy, even for me.”     

Moriarty sighed and leaned back in the chair, checking his mobile. He gave a slight frown and kicked his feet absently, twirling from side to side.    

“There was a time when I actually wondered if you would be a challenge for me.  You have to understand my curiosity, an alpha that rejected a bond with an omega.  The way Victor told it, he dumped you, but he’s easy enough to see through.  You broke his little, malicious heart and it still drives him mad. I would’ve let you continue for years just because I love to watch you dance. But not now.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered then tried and failed to find his feet.      

“You can't have him.  You just can't.  He's too important, he's done too much.  You got closer than anyone else, I'll give you that.  But there is a war coming and you are on the losing side.”

“People have died,” Sherlock slurred as he unsuccessfully attempted to stand again.

"That's what people DO!"  Moriarty shouted.

"John won’t . . . he’ll try to stop you.”

"Not after he finds out what the British government has in store for him.  You really have an absurd amount of trust in your brother. And your brother has too much trust in me.  He actually thinks I would trade John Watson, the most sought after omega in the world, for _you._ ” Moriarty said with a cruel grin.  He then stood and paced, thumping the small book in his hand.  “Oh, things would’ve been so much easier if you just would’ve left him at the pool and I could have disposed of you quietly.  Now I’ve had to resort to my back up plan. Seb will be here soon with the body so we can stage this and be done with it. I just thought we could have a little chat before everything ended.”  

“You’re going to do it yourself?” Sherlock asked, trying to stall for time as his mind worked through the lingering effects of the drug.

“I have to. You’ve left me with little choice.  I’ve ordered other people to do it three times and you’ve wriggled free.  It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

“Wh – when did . . .” Sherlock mumbled as he tried to remember attempts on his life.

“I _really_ hope those are the drugs making you so slow witted, otherwise I’ve gone to a lot of trouble for nothing.  The first time was the cabbie.  I set him on you right after you met John and ironically enough it was John that saved you.  The second time was the Chinese smugglers but they were so stupid they nearly killed John instead.  Believe me, they paid dearly for that.  The third was your overdose, drug dealers are so easy to bribe, but John saved you yet again,” Moriarty paused and tapped his chin sarcastically. “Am I missing any? No, I think those are all the official attempts.” 

“He . . . loves me,” Sherlock croaked out desperately. 

“Sentiment,” Moriarty muttered and rolled his eyes. He then paced over to the window, gazing out.  “The time of alpha rule is at an end.  I didn’t start this.  They crossed the line when they killed Andrew Watson and have left us no choice.  I wonder: does John even know how his father died?”

Sherlock carefully gathered his feet under him and began to rise from the bed.  Moriarty seemed not to notice and kept speaking, “I’ll tell you if you want. There was a rather obvious cover-up, so I didn’t need to dig much.  On the morning of-”

Moriarty’s words were cut off by the sound of the window shattering.  His body fell lifelessly to the floor, a dark red pool growing underneath him.  In the next instant, the door burst open and John sped into the room with several armed guards behind him.  Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed, John’s hands all over him, checking for injuries.  He faded back into unconsciousness to the knowledge that John had saved him yet again.       

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ridiculous plot twits, ho!  
> I apologize for my life.   
> I should have this wrapped up in a couple more chapters. If you're still reading this, I thank you for your patience and support.


	10. Chapter 10

John nervously walked into the kitchen then turned sharply, marching back into the living room.  He looked at Sherlock typing on his laptop at the table and turned back around.  He had been pacing for a good five minutes.  After setting his shoulders, John took his final turn into the living room, planted his feet, and asked the question he had been losing sleep over.

 

"When are we going to talk about it?"

 

"Talk about what?" Sherlock responded without looking up from his laptop. 

 

“I'm an omega,” John said, barely stopping himself from shouting. 

 

“So you are,” Sherlock drawled with an irritating nonchalance, continuing to focus his attention on his computer.

 

John waited for more and when he received none, asked, "Doesn't that change things?"

 

Sherlock finally stopped and looked up, "Do you want it to?"

 

"No," John answered immediately.

 

"Good," Sherlock went back to typing.

 

There was a long moment of silence until John continued, "It's just that it's been a month since you found out and you haven't said a word."

 

“I didn't think it was relevant.”

 

“Didn’t think it was,” John mimicked quietly, “Don't you care that I lied to you?"

 

"You had your reasons," Sherlock said as he finally gave up on work and turned his full attention to John. "I wouldn't have trusted me either. There was nothing I ever said or did that could've made you think I was fit to handle such information."

 

John let out a sigh of relief, "So you're not angry?"

 

"Of course not, besides it was less a lie and more a sin of omission.  You're a practical man and you made a practical decision.  I respect that," Sherlock said with a small grin as if he had just bestowed the greatest compliment he's capable of giving.

 

John took that in for a second and then thought to ask, "Do you ever _omit_ the truth from me?"

 

"Yes," Sherlock said without hesitation.  

 

John shook his head slightly in surprise and snapped back, "What aren't you telling me?"

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow seemingly in an attempt to pass his comment off as facetiousness, but he lost his steam almost immediately.  He rested his head in his hands and sighed wearily. In a deep, resigned voice, he said, "Things you should never know."

 

Before John could ask what that meant or even digest what was happening, Sherlock's mobile rang and the detective leapt to his feet as he eagerly answered.

 

 

 

The scene was grim. While a crime scene is never a particularly cheerful place, there usually exists some professional toleration of the dark parts of humanity. However, the scene was more miserable and mournful than any John had ever encountered, including his years serving in Afghanistan. When they entered, a young officer exited at a sprint in order to vomit into the bushes. John could see tears in his eyes of one of the forensics workers, honest to God tears. 

 

They were in an old factory that had once produced sweets, primarily hard candies.  Rotting in the corner was a cardboard stand of Hansel and Gretel, from a seemingly failed marketing campaign. A sense of foreboding flooded John’s body and he prayed they were not about to see murdered children.  He'd experienced some terrible things in his life and did not want to add hacked up kids to the list. To his somewhat relief, the victims were not children but two adult men. One was naked and brutally beaten, lying face down in his own blood.  The other was completely unharmed except for the gunshot wound through his head. 

 

To John's shock, Sherlock let out a small gasp and turned his head away upon seeing the bodies.  It was obviously a nasty sight but nothing had ever scandalized Sherlock Holmes before. John stepped closer, determined to find out what he was missing.  After a few moments, he finally caught on. The gunshot victim had a black band around his upper left arm.  It was the type of band issued by the government to a widowed omega to wear for his year of mourning after the death of his bonded alpha. 

 

In 1954, an angry wife fatally stabbed the omega that her alpha husband had left her for. If she hadn't have been placed in protective custody, she would've been strung up in a public square. That was what the citizenry believed was the last time an omega was murdered on British soil.  What people didn't know and would probably never find out is that the last murdered omega was actually James Moriarty, gunned down by shadowy government agents after having kidnapped the brother of a top government official. That had been one month earlier. Less than a dozen people knew the truth of that killing. 

 

Sherlock wouldn’t talk about what happened in the room. Mycroft wouldn't talk about what happened in the flat across the street. John soon found out just how frustratingly tight lipped a Holmes could be. John kept telling himself to be glad Moriarty was dead, but some part of him knew something was wrong. He supposes that it came down to surprise since he never imagined they would shoot an omega, unarmed at that. Under pressure from Mycroft, Greg didn’t file a report and the body was hauled off to wherever master criminals were disposed of. John had been left to stew in a quagmire of mixed emotions.

 

After an unprecedented ten seconds, Sherlock composed himself and turned back to the bodies.  Slowly and with the cautious steps of a leopard, he began to move around the scene, taking in the evidence that no one else could bring themselves to examine. When yet another officer turn away in anguish, a rush of anger flooded John’s mind. As unsettling as the idea of a dead omega was, it was a bitter fact that none of the tears and the shock was for the other victim, the one tortured and bludgeoned to death. Without the presence of the omega, he would have been just another crime scene, another murdered beta, a cruel victim of an unjust world.

 

John finally pulled his shocked gaze away from the bodies and took in the unusually high number of officers on the scene, particularly alphas. The smell was something John hadn’t experienced since his army days. Apparently word about the nature of the crime had gotten out suspiciously fast.  

 

Sherlock took his time and, with impressive sensitivity to the gravity of the situation, refrained from thinking aloud and hurling insults at every person present. After taking several minutes to examine the bodies from every possible angle, he turned to face Detective Lestrade and spoke solemnly, "The first victim is a beta about 35. He worked as security, one of the firms contracted by social services."

 

"So he was guarding that omega?" Anderson chimed in.  

 

Sherlock flinched as if he wanted to reply with an insult but stopped himself and nodded, "Yes, they were in a relationship-"

 

"Bullshit!" An alpha from the growing crowd of police shouted. He was silenced with a glare from Lestrade.

 

Sherlock ignored the outburst and continued, "The relationship was the cause of the beta's execution."

 

"Wait, are you telling me this was a _lynching_?" Lestrade said, the last word spoken in a whisper.

 

"Yes, three alpha supremacists planned to humiliate, beat, and rape this man and then forcibly bond with his lover in front of him. But something went wrong. One of them got too aggressive hit the victim's head against the ground. He bled out and died within seconds. They began to quarrel. Either the beta wasn't supposed to die so soon or more likely they probably didn't think ahead about which one would do the bonding. While they were distracted, the omega slipped his ropes, which were not tied very tightly-”

 

"Didn't want to hurt him," Lestrade interjected with a growl of disgust.

 

"Indeed,” Sherlock squatted down point out the position of the victim’s hand, “The omega snatched the gun from one of the attacker’s holster, or more likely pocket, and in despair, grief, and fear of a force bonding, shot himself."        

 

A deep, profound silence enveloped the room broken by a pitied sniffle of "Poor lad.”

 

"It’s atrocious," another added. “He wasn’t even out of mourning.”   

 

"Yes, a tragedy, never mind the beta who was tortured to death," Sherlock said sharply, his controlled manners slipping. 

 

"Probably had it coming," another alpha muttered. 

 

Sherlock stood up, his eyes filled with fury but before he could open his mouth, Anderson spun around and shouted, "Out!"

 

The alpha took a step back, shocked at the rage directed at him from the normally pompous beta.  He began to formulate a response when Anderson shouted again, "Get out! I don't want to see your face."

 

Lestrade joined in with a shout of, “Why the _hell_ are there so many people on this crime scene? I swear to God if anything is tampered with, I’ll have the lot of you taken up on charges.”

 

With great reluctance, the alpha and several of his colleagues succumbed to Lestrade’s seniority and slowly walked out, muttering _fucking betas_ on their way.

 

Anderson made a show of slamming the door shut after they left.  He took a moment to compose himself and then nodded at Sherlock to continue.

 

Sherlock gazed at Anderson as if seeing him for the first time. He then continued his report, "According to the blood splatter, there were three attackers, all armed. They had been planning to dispose of the body in that incinerator, hence this location. When the omega shot himself, they panicked and fled, leaving the bodies. I'm sure the victims are riddled with DNA. It'll be easy enough for even . . . it should present no problem."

 

Silence enveloped the room once again only broken when Lestrade asked, "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

 

"One of the attackers was probably an estate agent.  I'm sure many of the locals are aware of the factory but to know it has a working incinerator would suggest in depth knowledge of the building's conditions. Plus there was no sign of forced entry."

 

"He had a key," Lestrade concluded, his voice deflated and weary.

 

"He had a key," Sherlock echoed solemnly.   

 

 

_"John take this with you."_

_"Dad, this is too much.  This is-"_

_"Enough.  It should be enough to last you."_

_"What, for the rest of my life?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Dad, I don't need-"_

_"I might not always be around and you are rubbish at pharmacology."_

_"I hold my own."_

_"You're in the military now and you have to be extra careful."_

_"Yes, we discussed all this."_

_"Just humor your old dad.  It's an honorable thing you're doing and you can't let lust and pheromones cloud your judgment.  You must be diligent."_

_"I will."_

_"Remember I love you and I'm proud of you."_

 

 

After returning to the flat, Sherlock sat in his arm chair, deep in thought while John still felt sick to his stomach.  He headed directly for the shower as if hot water and soap could wipe out those images from his mind.  When he finally emerged, his skin pink from the copious scrubbing, Sherlock was still seated in the same position.    

 

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock spoke up, "What did you think of the crime scene?"

 

"Bloody awful." John said with a shudder. 

 

"Have you ever had any experience with hate groups?" Sherlock said with an unreadable gaze.

 

"No, luckily," John said as he pursued the post. "A few overzealous alphas but nothing like the people that did this."

 

"What about your father?" Sherlock asked trying to sound casual.

 

John chuckled at the thought of his sweet, scientist father as a raving supremacist, "Oh no, he was a beta."

 

"No, I mean, was he ever targeted by supremacists?" Sherlock asked.

 

At that, John looked up, perplexed.  Sherlock met John's gaze with a blank expression.  He continued, "How did your father die?"

 

"Car accident," John said his unease growing. 

 

"Tell me the circumstances," Sherlock said, his face still revealing nothing.  

 

"He was out driving, got distracted, missed a curve, and hit a tree.  He died on the way to hospital."  It took many years for John to be able to recite those details with such nonchalance.  

 

"Out driving. Where was he driving?" Sherlock pressed.

 

"I don't know," John answered.  A knot began to form in his stomach.    

 

"Had he gone to the market or his office?"

 

"No, he always rode his bicycle around the village."

 

"How far away from home was he?"

 

"About twenty miles."  

 

"Was he visiting a family member, a friend, or a colleague perhaps?"

 

"Not that I know of."

 

"So you would say it was unusual for him to be driving so far from home." 

 

"Yes." 

 

"When was the last time you had seen him in person?"

 

"Three weeks before."

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.  John continued, "I was set to begin basic training and I'd gone to him for another round of suppressants." 

 

"Was there anything unusual about the meeting?"

 

"Instead of the usual six month supply, he gave me a lifetime's worth.  Well, three lifetime's worth actually." 

 

"Did he say why?"

 

"He said he wouldn't always be around."

 

"Ah," Sherlock said with a nod and asked in that falsely patient voice, "What do you think that meant?"

 

A wave of anger swept over John as he stood and paced, shouting, "Cut the shit.  What exactly are you trying to tell me?"

 

"Your father was murdered by an extremist group and the crime was reported as an accident."

 

The bottom fell out of John's world. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not abandoned but wow, super long delay on that chapter. I suck. But good news is that it's summer, I have fewer students, and I should have lots more time to write. There's only a few more chapters. I can't thank you enough for the lovely supportive comments.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you've probably noticed that this chapter is super long, but that's because it's actually two chapters. I realized the first chapter had way too much exposition and people would be like 'Yo, Goober, where's the sex?' so I mashed it together with the next chapter that finally has another sex scene. So please bear through the boring first half and you will be handsomely rewarded.

John felt like a teenager locking himself in his room, but he didn't really care.  Sherlock had given one half-hearted attempt to talk through the door, but seemed eager to leave him alone when John requested it.  John lost track of time as he wallowed in his guilt.  He didn't need to be told why his father died; it would have been his production of the omega suppressants. He created that drug at John's request. John was the reason for his father's murder. 

 

It was night by the time John decided to call his sister. 

“John! How are you?” Harry practically shouted into the phone. At least she wasn't slurring her words; John had called her early enough to avoid the rambling drunk stage but she was tipsy enough that she wouldn't be on guard. “How's Sherlow?”

 

“Sherlock,” John corrected. “He was just telling me an interesting theory.”

 

“Does it involve cigarette ash?” Harry asked. Apparently she had been reading his website.

 

“No, actually it involves Dad,” John said in no mood for jokes. “Sherlock seems to think Dad was murdered by alpha supremacists.”

 

There was a heavy silence on the other end. In a grave, sad voice Harry said, “John . . .” but seemed unable to form what to say after.

 

“You knew.” John said with a painful epiphany. “You've always known. Why . . . why didn't you . . .”

 

“How could I?” Harry said with a weary sigh. “You took their divorce so personally, I didn't think you could handle it.”

 

“I should've known.”

 

“What would it have changed? You just would've been miserable and all Dad wanted was for you to be happy.”

 

“But it's my fault!”

 

“No . . . No, John it is absolutely not your fault. You are in no way responsible for the actions of radicals.”

 

“Oh God, this is why you went into civil rights law, isn't it? How stupid am I that I never noticed anything?” John said, his voice almost breaking. “Sherlock said there was a cover up but didn't go into details. Who exactly was involved?”

 

“I don't know,” Harry said with regret. “I honestly don’t know for sure. It goes deep, John. I've been searching for years and I can't find the roots of this thing. How the hell does Sherwood know anything about it anyway?”

 

John paused and then answered, “I assumed he just put it together.”

 

“Really?” Harry said skeptically. 

 

“You don't know him; he's amazing at this stuff. If he suspects anything, he can put together the tiniest details.”

 

“Yeah, but why did he suspect anything?” 

 

John hesitated. He hated himself for hesitating but he had been lied to far too much not to doubt even Sherlock. “You don't think . . .” He began cautiously.

 

“He _is_ an alpha and a strange one at that. I'm not saying he had anything to do with it but he knows things he's not telling you. Just be careful. If you do learn anything, please tell me. And John,” Harry paused and said softly, “For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

 

“Are you sorry you lied or sorry I found out?”

 

“Both,” Harry said sadly and hung up. 

 

 

_“John, I'm so sorry for all of this.”_

_"Professor Walters, I appreciate you coming to the funeral. Dad always spoke so highly of you."_

_"He was a brilliant scientist, one of my finest students."_

_"And a good man."_

_"When was the last time you spoke with him."_

_"Three weeks before the accident. I'd gone out for a visit."_

_"How was he?"_

_"Same as ever. We were discussing basic training."_

_"That's right, you joined the army. You're a strong beta just like your father."_

_"I suppose so."_

_"Well best of luck to you, my lad. Please, stay safe."_

 

 

When John went downstairs, ready to confront Sherlock about his secrets, he was surprised to find the detective with company. Mycroft was seated across the table from him and they were deep in conversation enough so neither noticed John enter. 

 

John cleared his throat and Sherlock looked up, worry evident in his eyes. He then stood, crossed the room, and gave John a soft kiss on the cheek. When he turned back around, his uncaring mask had slipped back into place as he haughtily sat on his armchair and crossed his legs. He gestured at John as he said, “You have questions, Mycroft has answers. Normally I would advise not trusting anything he has to say but right now he is so riddled with guilt that he's actually telling the truth. You must take advantage of the situation.”

 

John approached Mycroft and sure enough, his face held the closest thing to contrition that Mycroft Holmes was capable of producing. John decided to dive in head first, "Who killed my father?"

 

Mycroft began pulling files out of his briefcase and handed one to John. “If you mean specifically, it was a man named Roger Willems. He pursued Professor Watson for ten miles then forced him off the road when no others were present. After the crash, he approached the vehicle and broke the victim's neck.”

 

“With his bare hands?” John asked as he tried to make sense of the paperwork in front of him. 

 

“Yes, like any specials forces operative, he was extensively trained in hand to hand combat.”

 

“Special forces, so he worked for the government?" John asked. Mycroft nodded. "Why would the government want my father dead?”

 

“He was a threat.”

 

"To whom?"

 

“The established order. This may sound like a paranoid fantasy, but there is a faction of the government dedicated solely to eradicating threats to alpha supremacy." John narrowed his gaze until Mycroft looked away in shame, adding, "And I've been working for them for the past 10 years."

 

John let that sink in for a moment and then asked suspiciously, "Why the change of heart?"

 

Mycroft coughed and fidgeted, saying in a soft voice, "Love, it seems, can be a transformative emotion."

 

"Ah, Lestrade," John said, beginning to get a picture of what Mycroft had been wrestling with the past year.

 

"Indeed," Mycroft said before diving back into the topic at hand. "Your father made claims to the wrong people that he had not only created a successful omega suppressant but could prove its effectiveness so that even the British government could not dismiss it.”

 

“What kind of proof?”

 

“It was assumed at the time that he had tested it on an omega and had documented the results.” Mycroft said, pointing to a set of old documents and reports. “However, that omega was never found and no test results were ever recovered. Because nothing came forth after his death, it was thought the secret died with him.”

 

"But Moriarty had the taken the drug."

 

“Yes, it is estimated that over 50 omegas across Europe are actively using the drug and living as betas."

 

"If other omegas are taking the drug, what makes me so special?”

 

"I'm assuming your father encouraged or maybe even suggested you join the military?"

 

John nodded, remembering how his father had gone so far as to arrange a meeting for John with a recruitment officer.

 

“Like we discussed before, when you joined the army you identified as a beta, but there was a physical examination, correct?”

 

“Yes, that’s right, quite thorough as I recall.”

 

“Was the physician an alpha?”

 

“God, that was a long time ago, but yeah, he probably was.”

 

“It's rare but omegas have tried to join up before so it's become common practice that all new recruits are examined by an unbonded alpha.”

 

John had never heard about that requirement but there were so many alphas in the military that he wouldn't have noticed anyway.

 

“You were declared a beta. Meaning, the British government has officially recognized you as a beta thus proving the drug's efficacy. Every subsequent physical exam only further cemented that claim. You have proved that an omega can remain unbound and live without the protection of an alpha. You are the proof that will shatter the government's hold on the old ways."

 

"How would I even go about shattering anything?"

 

"All you have to do is go off your medication and appear in public and a successful omega suppressant will no longer be a myth." 

 

“You make it sound so simple,” Sherlock drawled from his chair. He had been so

uncharacteristically quiet that John had forgotten he was even sitting there. “Tell him the rest.” 

 

Mycroft turned around to glare at his brother and then looked back at John, his countenance even bleaker than before. 

 

"Your father's ultimate plan was to have you serve in the military for a year and then convince you to go public. Before that happened, your father decided to consult with a colleague, a former professor and adviser of his from Cambridge." 

 

With sudden dread filling his heart, John whispered, "Professor Walters."

 

"Yes, Reginald Walters, professor of biochemistry and, as it turns out, a long time alpha supremacist."

 

Mycroft placed a photo print from a protest rally held in the 1960s. He pointed to a man shouting at betas entering a formerly alphas only residence hall.

 

“He reported on your father to his associates. Government agents convinced Walters to arrange a meeting with your father offering his aide. Walters told him it had to be strictly confidential and to bring his most important evidence with him.”

 

John felt his knees going weak. He surely would have fell to the floor if it weren't for Sherlock wrapping an arm around his waist. He was so absorbed he hadn't even noticed the man move from his chair.

 

"My dad worshipped him. They were friends."

 

Sherlock leant down and nuzzled John's neck for comfort. It was odd but the alpha scent was actually helping to ground him. 

 

"Where is he now?" Sherlock asked trying to fill the silence.

 

"Died five years ago from complications due to heart disease," Mycroft answered.

 

"I spoke at his funeral," John said in disbelief.  He felt Sherlock squeeze his shoulder and he remembered to tap into his inner soldier. He stepped away from Sherlock and asked firmly, "What happens now?"

 

"Now, you go public. I can arrange a press conference and you can let the world know there is a drug, it works, and you are offering the formula for free."

 

"I don't even have the formula."

 

"No, you don't, but Jim Moriarty did. Your father leaked the formula to several omega empowerment groups. They've been producing it on a small scale for years. I was tasked on finding the British source."

 

"And you did," Sherlock answered. "How long had you known it was Moriarty?"  

 

"Since we made contact in Prague. He was a well-known omega rights activist, the criminal consulting was only a means of making money. We were hoping he would lead us to the source, the original Watson omega. However, when he carried out the bombings in London, he was labeled as a domestic terrorist and targeted for elimination."

 

"And my kidnapping was just a convenient excuse," Sherlock said petulantly.

 

"So you two talked before he died," Mycroft said with a sign, "How much did he tell you?"

 

"Enough."

 

"Wait, what are you on about?" John asked, suddenly confused.

 

"God, Sherlock, you didn't tell him?" Mycroft said accusingly.

 

Sherlock frowned and stepped further away from John. 

 

"Sherlock, _again_?" John whined, supposing he shouldn't be surprised at that point.

 

"Moriarty was not interested in bonding with Sherlock. He only wanted to prevent him from bonding with you. That evening he intended to stage a murder suicide to drive you away from alphas altogether."

 

"What does it matter if I bond? The drug would still effective."

 

"If they're going to make full use of you, they need you independent from alpha influence. You were the catalyst in Moriarty's plans," Mycroft explained. "With you invalided home from Afghanistan, they were gearing up for their big move. Moriarty had returned to England with the mission to instill civil unrest and distrust of the government. It was assumed he was going to make contact with the Watson Omega."

 

“What did you file in your report?” John asked, hating how much power Mycroft had over him.

 

“As far as the British government is concerned, the uprising died along with James Moriarty and the Watson omega is still just a hypothetical figure. No one knows he's living with my brother.”

 

"No one?"

 

"Only my PA,” Mycroft assured him, adding, “and Greg." 

 

John let out a sigh of relief and asked, "What made you even suspect me in the first place?"

 

"Sherlock's interest. Anyone that could hold his attention is worth looking into." Mycroft said, earning an eye roll from Sherlock. "I've had an off the records meeting with Sebastian Moran. I guess you can say we came to an understanding. He assures me that if John goes public, Moriarty's assembled omega activists will make sure it's a success. To take advantage of the public outrage at the crime from this morning, you must act quickly. How long before the effects of the drug wear off?"

 

John shook his head and asked, "Excuse me, but how can you be sure Sebastian Moran is telling the truth." 

 

"I have my methods," Mycroft answered gravely and his expression left no room for doubt. "How long until the drug wears off?" Mycroft repeated.

 

"Two days."

 

"Then we'll have the press conference on Friday and at the same time we will post the formula on as many public websites as possible."

 

"Wait, I don't have the formula. My dad always made the pills for me."

 

"You do now," Mycroft said as he pulled out a large envelope and handed it to John. It had an elaborate wax seal, already broken. "James Moriarty left this to you in his will. The delivery was intercepted." 

 

John raised his eyebrow and Mycroft added, "I'm the only one who's read it. It's the original copy of your father's formula along with his instructions on the best manufacturing procedures." 

 

John carefully looked through the documents, recognizing his father's handwriting.  There was a letter included.  It read:

 

Dearest John,

The time has come to begin the fall.

Yours,

James Moriarty

 

Mycroft continued, "With this, we can complete your father's work."

 

John could only nod solemnly.

 

"It's not enough," Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

 

"What do you mean?" Mycroft asked irritation clear in his voice. "This will change everything."

 

"If it was that simple, Moriarty wouldn't have gone to so much trouble. The old alpha regime will still be there, fighting every step of the way. If we are to insure not only the truth about Andrew Watson's formula and John's safety, the hierarchy of the most influential and public alphas needs to be linked to the recent beta/omega murder in a public court case."

 

"How do you suggest we do that?" Mycroft asked condescendingly.

 

“I didn't think it would be possible but as you said, with this case, public outrage at alpha supremacists will be at an all-time high and anyone associated with it will become a social pariah.  It won’t even require a conviction to tarnish their reputations. This case is going to be so toxic that their influence will dwindle merely by association. To do this, we will need to apprehend several members in the act of an attempted lynching and offer protective custody in exchange for testimony.”

 

"If what you say is true then they are going to be keeping their heads down. The chances of another crime are miniscule,” Mycroft said in retort.

 

"That's why we need to draw them out."

 

"How?"

 

Just as the word left Mycroft's mouth, the front door opened and Lestrade strolled in. He looked at Sherlock and said, "I got your text and came as soon as I could get away." He took his coat off and slung it over a chair. "Things are going absolutely haywire. We have people from every part of law enforcement trying to stick their noses in and the press is going mad. I had to sneak out the back and take a cab, they were staking out my car."

 

"What have you learned?" Sherlock asked.

 

"You were right. One of the attackers was an estate agent. The manager of the agency listing the factory is a woman. She not only confirmed which of her employees had access to those keys but also which ones were unbonded alphas, but she already had a good idea who it was anyway. We had officers at his flat in fifteen minutes."

 

"Will he talk?" John asked, hopefully.

 

"No, probably not," Lestrade answered. "His throat was sliced and tongue cut out about three hours before we arrived." 

 

"Pretty clear message," Mycroft mumbled. 

 

"Mycroft, if we're able to get other members alive, could you provide agents to extract the needed information,” Sherlock asked, humming with inappropriate excitement.

 

"Of course," Mycroft said with a shrug.

 

"So a trap it is, I'm assuming you need me as the bait?" John asked, receiving a nod from Sherlock. "Fine, I'll do whatever it takes."

 

"Good to know, but it won't be enough," Sherlock said as he turned his gaze to Lestrade. 

 

Mycroft slammed his hand on the table, "No! Absolutely not. It's far too dangerous."

 

"What are you on about?" Lestrade asked in confusion.

 

"John by himself would raise a great deal of attention but in order to draw out the extremists that murdered John's father, he would have to be doing something shocking.  I think that publicly dating a beta would fall into that category."

 

"Oh, you want _me_ to do it?" Lestrade asked, receiving an impatient nod from Sherlock. "Yeah, of course. Whatever you need. I want these bastards taken down."

 

John patted Lestrade's shoulder in thanks. 

 

Mycroft, meanwhile, was livid. "Have you forgotten the mutilated beta from this morning? You'll be demoted, possibly fired in the best case scenario and in the worst . . ." Mycroft couldn't even finish his sentence, his breath ragged and frantic. 

 

Lestrade only shrugged in response and said, "Let 'em try."

 

Mycroft released an indignant squawk and turned to his brother, "What about John? He could be raped, force bonded, or even murdered. There are those who will not hesitate to kill an omega, just ask James Moriarty." 

 

Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder and replied, "John can take care of himself. He always has."

 

Mycroft looked to be on the verge of tears. John stepped forward and firmly said, "Mycroft, I promise you that I will do everything within my power to protect Greg, but I need you to promise you won't try to sabotage this.  I know it's shitty to doubt you after you've saved my life but you can't blame me for being worried.  I need to know we'll have your full support."

 

For a moment, Mycroft looked torn but in the end, he gazed into Lestrade's eyes and said, "I won't let you down."

 

Lestrade smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently. Mycroft sighed and returned the kiss. 

 

 

 

They decided to make it simple since it was technically a first date. They didn’t want to waste time so they opted for a high profile restaurant. While normally it had a two month waiting period for a reservation, Mycroft managed a table for two at 8 o’clock on a Friday in the center of the restaurant. The hostess, having no idea she was seating an omega and a beta, was friendly and even said they made a fine couple. The first strange look came from a passing busboy that nearly dropped the dishes he was carrying.

 

Greg made a show of reading through the menu and ordering for both of them in French. Once the waitress had left, John raised an eyebrow and Greg laughed, saying, “That’s what Mycroft always does when he’s trying to impress me. I don’t know if it’s an alpha thing or a Holmes thing.”

 

“Sherlock only eats between cases. So when he does, he’s usually starved half to death. He eats with two hands. It’s disgusting," John says, shaking his head. "No, Sherlock's idea of seduction is to walk into my bedroom naked. Then again, it works, it always works.”

 

Greg laughed warmly and said, "See, Mycroft is nothing like how he appears. I guess that's what drew me in. He's sweet, affectionate but scared to death of me leaving him. He's been alone for a long time." Greg gave a small, fond smile. "You wouldn't think it to look at him, but he's a hopeless romantic. He once covered my bed in rose petals and rubbed my feet while reciting poetry.  I have a sneaking suspicion that he's been reading Cosmo."

 

John couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Mycroft studying an article on _How to Please Your Man._ Greg took a sip of his wine. He'd ordered something ridiculously expensive since Mycroft was footing the bill. "I've always wondered," Greg said and then leaned forward to ask, "What is Sherlock like at home?"

 

"Sherlock is," John pondered, "exactly the same as he is at crime scenes. He's rude, condescending, impatient, and easily bored. He can't stand for his mind to be idle. I once caught him texting in bed."

 

"What, after you've had sex he goes on the phone?"

 

"No, not after, during." Greg gaped as John elaborated, "I was on my hands and knees and he's behind me. I hear some beeping sounds and turn to look at him and he's got one hand on my arse and the other texting a client about a case."

 

"What did you do?"

 

"I knocked the phone out of his hand and flipped him over then I grabbed his belt and tied his hands to the bedpost. Of course once we were finished, he went right back to it. Ugh, with this new case, he's been so preoccupied that we haven't had sex in three days," John said with a dramatic huff and took a sip of his wine. "How's the case going on your end?"

 

“Getting more attention every day," Greg said with a weary shake of his head. "I’ve heard of five candle light vigils in London alone. This is turning into a bigger deal than anyone could’ve imagined. The outrage and disgust are palpable. People that were just fed up with these supremacy groups are now out for blood. These old alphas, they must be panicking. Do you think Sherlock’s right; are they stupid enough to strike with this much heat on them?”

 

“I think they are,” John said in a low voice and leaned forward to gently kiss Greg. As he did, he heard a glass crashing nearby. 

 

During the appetizer, John fed a bite of his calamari to Greg and heard a man retch. While Greg was sampling wine, John called him darling and earned a disgusted glare from the sommelier. When Greg clasped John’s hand during the entree, a middle aged man called his waiter over and gestured rather pointedly at their table. When their plates were cleared away, the manager approached their table.

 

“Gentlemen, perhaps it is time to pay your bill and leave,” he said through clenched teeth.

 

“Actually, we were thinking about dessert,” Greg answered, flippantly ignoring the seething alpha. “John, how about some crème brulee?”

 

“That sounds lovely,” John purred.

 

“Sirs, we reserve the right to deny business to anyone. Leave now and I won’t need to get the police involved.”

 

“You already have,” Greg answered and whipped out his badge. “If you’d like to take it up with my captain, I have her number.”

 

The manager looked as if he’d bit into a lemon as he snapped back, “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Your dessert will be out in a moment, compliments of the house. Then I hope you’ll take your leave.”

 

“Of course,” Greg chuckled haughtily. “No reason to stay unless, John, would you like a nightcap?”

 

"Oh no, I think we'll take care of that back at my place," John said and bit his lip.

 

The manager's lip curled as he turned to leave. Before he could take a step, Greg reached out and tugged on the man's jacket, saying in a suggestive voice, “We'll only be needing one spoon.”

 

“Very well, sir,” the manager said with a forced smile.

 

When they were alone again, John raised an eyebrow and mouthed _bravo_. Greg raised his glass in mock salute.  John was starting to like Lestrade and could tell why Mycroft was so head over heels for him.

 

They did indeed share the crème brulee and John even licked the last bit from Greg's finger. That earned him a nasty glare from an old woman but John just responded with a wink. Greg made a show of helping John into his coat and led him out with a hand on his lower back.

 

As they left the restaurant, John received a text from Sherlock.  _Head 5 blocks east. Commence PDA. - SH._

 

“Always the romantic,” murmured John.

 

They found a busy tourist bubble, bustling with couples listening to street music and browsing shops.  Greg bought John a red rose and they strolled hand in hand trying to gain as much attention as possible. Finally they rested on a rather romantic spot on the bridge. 

 

“Sherlock thinks here will be good,” John said into Greg's ear. 

 

“Gotta admit, this is all new to me. My wife never went in for this kind of thing and Mycroft, well . . ."

 

"OK, can I finally ask? Why do you two keep things so secret?" John asked. "I mean Sherlock didn't even know."

 

"With Mycroft's position, we decided it would be safer if we stayed as low profile as possible. Mycroft doesn't want anyone to use me as leverage against him and I . . ." Greg hesitated and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have worked very hard to get where I am and I know that if it comes out I'm dating an alpha, a government official at that, people would assume . . ."

 

"That he's pulling the strings?" John finished. 

 

Greg nodded and sighed heavily, "God, that sounds paranoid, but the police are still an alpha organization and . . . fuck, you've seen what they're like." John understood all too well. "Maybe when this is all over and things change like Sherlock thinks they will, I can truly tell them all to go to hell and live however I want."

 

 

At those words, John realized everything that was at stake. He remembered the flash of desperate rage on Anderson's face, the smell of blood filling an old sweets factor, and the weight of his father's casket. Failure was not an option. Not when the chance for lasting equality was in their grasp.

 

John snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a hand caressing his thigh and realized it wasn't Greg. With Greg at his left, John turned to the right and took in the middle aged alpha leaning in to smell his neck while blatantly trying to feel him up. The man seemed oblivious to his actions even when John coughed to get his attention.

 

The cough did alert Greg who shouted, "Oi! Fuck off!"

 

The alpha jumped back and looked about in confusion as if he had no idea what he'd been doing.  A second later his wife appeared and took his arm as she said, "Rob, I was looking at that shop and you just wandered off."

 

The man shook his head and mumbled an apology giving John one last confused glance.

 

John let out a long sigh and said, “I haven't been out in public as an omega since I was 17. That's going to take some getting used to. Most alphas don't look twice at me."

 

"You got Sherlock's attention."

 

"I took him by surprise. He's not used to anyone putting up with him for more than a few minutes."

 

"Well, stay with him and you might even get to meet Mummy Holmes," Greg said with a shudder.

 

"That bad?" John asked not surprised.

 

"She's what you'd expect: old money, married to an alpha with two alpha sons," Greg said as he brought John's hand up to his lips and placed a little kiss on the knuckles. "Mycroft introduced me to her. Not as his boyfriend, mind you, but as a work colleague of Sherlock's. She looked me up and down and said ' _This is the one that keeps Sherlock busy? I suppose betas do have their uses from time to time._ ' I nearly punched the old bat right then."

 

John giggled as a great many things about Mycroft and Sherlock became clear. With a sigh, John checked his watch and said, "I suppose we better start this."

 

He then leaned in and placed a tender, soft kiss on Greg's lips. Greg pressed his forehead against John's and murmured, "You're lovely," and rubbed their noses together.

 

John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.  As discreetly as he could, he checked the new message. _More - SH._

 

John rolled his eyes and placed the mobile back in his pocket.  He then turned to fully face his date and carded his fingers through Greg's thick greying hair.  Greg then slid his hand around to John's arse and squeezed eagerly. A man shouted something angry from across the crowd. 

 

John's mobile vibrated again. _I know you can do better. - SH._

 

John huffed and tried again. This time he wrapped his arms around Greg's neck and pulled him down for a deep, tongue filled kiss complete with an obscene moan.  At that, a bicyclist crashed into a light post. 

 

John's phone vibrated again. _One more time. - SH._

 

Right as John was about to lean in for another, a bottle flew past Greg's head.

 

John took the DI's hand and led him away, saying, "On second thought, I think we're done here."

 

As they were quickly walking to a car waiting down the block, John could hear a fight breaking out. To John's surprise, shouts of "it's against nature!" and "they ought to be strung up" were being overwhelmed by cries of "there's nothing wrong with it!" and "leave them alone!" 

 

When they slid into the back of the luxury car, Mycroft was waiting, trying his best to feign nonchalance. "Congratulations Dr. Watson, your tongue has now officially caused a public riot."

 

"Totally worth it," Greg said with a flirtatious grin. Mycroft frowned and scooted closer to Greg, shooting John a jealous glare. 

 

"Guards are already posted near your flat. I do wish you'd come stay with me," Mycroft said, worry evident in his voice.

 

"That would defeat the whole purpose of trying to look like I'm dating John," Greg said but still placed a reassuring hand on Mycroft's leg. "This isn't my first time being undercover."

 

"Yes, but you've never had to draw so much attention to yourself," Mycroft said. "We want them to make their move but we want you to survive as well."

 

Greg sighed and clasped Mycroft's cheek, drawing him into a soft kiss.  In a low voice, he said, "I'll be fine."

 

"I could stay the night with him," John suggested, earning a scowl from Mycroft.

 

"I don't think my brother would appreciate that," Mycroft said, directing his remarks solely to Greg. "Besides this was your first date and John cannot appear to be too eager.  It has to be clear that you're seducing him."

 

"He took me out for dinner and a romantic stroll," John said, poking at Mycroft's already frayed nerves. "I've put out for less."

 

"I'm sure you have," Mycroft muttered.

 

"We're here," Greg said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "John, I'll walk you to the door."

 

"Such a gentleman," John cooed to further torment Mycroft.

 

"I had no idea Mycroft could get so jealous," John said in amusement as they walked hand in hand.

 

"Oh, you have no idea but honestly I can handle Mycroft. Are _you_ going to be OK?" Greg asked and John looked at him in confusion.  "Well, Sherlock can be such a child when he's upset and I don’t even want to think about him jealous."

 

“Sherlock doesn't get jealous of other men although I think he may have secretly broken my favorite coffee mug because I once said I loved it,” John mused. He leaned against the door and Greg caged him in with an arm. “The first time we slept together, which was disastrous, I thought he was jealous because I was being chatted up by another man. I figured out later that he was upset because I was ignoring him. He wants my undivided attention.”

 

“But he left the other bloke alone? The last time Mycroft thought another man was chatting me up, he had him arrested on charges of suspected terrorism. Now I have to find a new accountant.”

 

“How can you . . . why do you stay?”

 

Greg raised an eyebrow and said, “I don’t think you’re in any position to ask what how _I_ tolerate my boyfriend’s quirks.”

 

John began to protest but Greg cut him off, saying, “Seriously, you haven’t said a single positive thing about Sherlock all night. He treats you like you’re an idiot, ignores you unless he needs you, and goes as far as to get jealous of inanimate objects.”

 

“Sherlock is . . .” John paused to find the right words. “Sherlock is . . .” Somehow, he couldn’t put any words for Sherlock that truly did him justice.

 

As John fumbled with his answer, Greg laughed softly and leaned in for a kiss, teasing his bottom lip with his tongue. When he pulled back, he whispered, "As long as you're happy."

 

John took in those words as Greg began to walk away. After a moment, he called out, "I am." Lestrade turned around and he repeated, "I am happy, Greg."

 

The DI smiled and continued back to the car.

 

_“What was the problem with this one?”_

_“He smelled wrong.”_

_“Wrong.”_

_“Mum, I know you don’t understand, but there’s just a feeling I get and I have to follow it.”_

_“You’re right, I don’t understand it. Your father has filled your head with this true love shit and if you buy into all that you’ll never be happy.”_

_“Do I need an alpha to be happy?”_

_“Don’t trick me into feeling sorry for you.”_

_“I wouldn’t presume.”_

 

John was indeed happy with Sherlock, but in all truth Sherlock had been avoiding him for the past couple days. Either he thought John was still mad about all the secrets and lies or he was trying to get John into character. With Sherlock’s inexperience and . . . peculiarities, John usually waited for him to make the first move. John never minded sacrificing a little control for Sherlock’s comfort. However, that night, he was feeling bold. After an evening of flirting and heavy petting with Lestrade, John was wound up and he was not going to wait for Sherlock to come to him. Besides, John still hadn't topped yet.

 

“Did you enjoy the show?” John asked, leaning on the doorframe. 

 

Sherlock was perched in his armchair, staring at his laptop. John wasn’t quite sure how Sherlock had been monitoring him but he assumed it was creepy and invasive. “It needs to be more,” he stated blandly.

 

“What am I supposed to do, blow him in the middle of Buckingham Palace?” John asked as he threw up his hands in defeat. 

 

“There have been 12 blog posts and three of them are actually in support. You’re coming off too sympathetic.”

 

“How do we go about fixing that?”

 

“Lestrade needs to appear to be taking advantage of you. Right now you look like a well matched, loving couple. He needs to act more like an alpha and you need to-”

 

“Act like less of a slut?” John asked, chuckling in amusement as he sat across from Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance then stood and shoved the laptop into John’s hands. “You two look like friends.”

 

“We _are_ friends,” John mumbled as he looked closely. “Wait, this is a photo of us, on the internet, taken twenty minutes ago!”

 

Sherlock ignored him as he continued with his speech, “You’ve gained attention, now you need to gain outrage and from more than just a few stuffy alphas. You need to be a threat.”

 

“What’s so different about us than the couple that was murdered?”

 

“The beta was a widower guard. It is believed that omegas are at their most vulnerable after their alpha dies so it was assumed the beta was taking advantage of him. What people won’t acknowledge or don’t care about is that the omega’s bonded alpha was an abusive prick that deserved a lot worse than being hit by a bus. The alpha kept him basically under house arrest, insanely paranoid that he would leave. The police received numerous complaints from the omega about abuse but ignored them because, despite it being the 21st century, omegas are considered chattel of their bonded alphas. The guard was probably the first person in a long time to treat him with kindness and respect,” Sherlock turned away and added in a softer voice, “They were most likely deeply in love.” He then whipped back around to John and said with full bluster, “The monsters that committed this crime are not looking for truth; they are looking for a symbol. You and Lestrade need to be a stereotype.”

 

Sherlock was nearly out of breath from his rant and took a moment to compose himself.

John snapped the laptop closed, pushed it aside, and launched himself at Sherlock. He had never been so turned on outside of a heat cycle in his entire life. He led a surprised Sherlock back onto the sofa and pushed him onto it harder than necessary. 

 

As he straddled Sherlock's lap, the confused alpha said, "John, I know I’m not usually great at picking up social cues but-”

 

John cut him off with a fierce kiss and then pulled back to unbutton Sherlock's top. With only two buttons open that beautiful pale chest was exposed. John expertly pinched one of Sherlock's nipples drawing out a loud moan. John went in for another kiss but softer than the first and whispered against Sherlock's lips, “I'd like to take you tonight.”

 

Sherlock's body went stiff in shock. With eyes wide he said, “John, I'm an alpha, I can't . . .”

 

“What, you don't think alphas can bottom? Whoever told you something so stupid?” John asked with a frown. “I've topped more alphas than I have betas.”

 

Sherlock raised an incredulous eyebrow as John leaned in to elaborate, “There is nothing hotter than taking an alpha worn out after an hour long knot, flipping him onto his stomach, and plunging into his hot, eager arse.”

 

Sherlock let out an involuntary moan and John felt his delicious alpha cock harden. John slid a hand into his own pants and stroked himself slowly. With a drawn out lick of his lips, John asked, “Do you want me inside you, Sherlock?”

 

Seeming unable to form the words, Sherlock nodded, but John wasn't satisfied.  He ground his hips against Sherlock's rock hard erection and said in a low, dangerous voice, “Tell me you want me.”

 

“I . . . want you,” Sherlock mumbled.

John pinned Sherlock's arms above his head and moved his lips to his ear, purring, “Be. More. Specific.”

 

“I want . . . your cock, ahhh,” Sherlock whimpered as John lightly bit at his lobe. “I want your cock in my arse.”

 

John grabbed the sides of Sherlock's face and rammed his tongue in so forcefully Sherlock nearly choked on it. He then pulled back and smiled at Sherlock's breathless, lust filled expression and said, “Then you'll have it.”

 

With his rarely seen omega grace, John climbed off Sherlock and pulled the alpha along by the hands. Instinctively, Sherlock began to move toward the stairs but John had other plans and tugged him down the hallway. 

 

Once in Sherlock’s bedroom, John pushed him onto the bed and draped himself across the detective, lavishing kisses on his neck.

 

“John,” Sherlock moaned. “John . . . wait, stop.”

 

John immediately pulled back and began to panic that he’d pushed Sherlock too fast. However, Sherlock continued through stuttering breaths, “I don’t . . . I don’t have any . . .”

 

“Seriously Sherlock?” John groaned. Even if they never had sex in Sherlock’s bedroom, John expected him to at least keep an emergency bottle of lube. Rolling onto his feet, John trotted out of the room, shouting, “I’ll be right back. Take your trousers off.”

 

When John returned after a record breaking flight up the stairs, Sherlock had only managed to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. John paused at the sight of Sherlock so uneasy. Sitting down next to him, John gently placed fingers under Sherlock’s chin, silently asking for eye contact. Softly, he said, “If you are in any way uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this.”

 

“I do want it,” Sherlock mumbled. “It’s only . . .”

 

“You’re scared,” John answered.

 

“I’m not scared,” Sherlock snapped back defensively. "It's just . . . I don't like losing control."

 

"Sherlock . . ." John began.

 

"Not control in the sense of sexual positions but . . . when you smell like this, I'm worried I will lose myself."

 

"There's nothing wrong with losing yourself during sex."

 

"Maybe for most people who are not accustomed to high capacity thought, but for me," Sherlock paused and let out a resigned breath, "the feeling is disconcerting."

 

John couldn't help but smile as he placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead. "There's no harm in letting the hard drive shut down for a while. I promise I won't make you stupid with sex."

 

Sherlock scowled but John just pulled him into a warm embrace and carded his fingers through his dark curls. When he felt Sherlock relax, he asked, "Do you trust me?"

 

"With my life," Sherlock whispered.

 

"Then let me do this for you."

 

After a moment of contemplation, Sherlock pulled back and lay out across the bed, slowly spreading his legs. John soaked in the incredibly erotic scene before him and began to harden again.  

 

Starting at Sherlock's long, pale neck, John kissed his way down to until he reached the fly of Sherlock's trousers. When John mouthed at the growing bulge, Sherlock let out a deep moan and trembled. John grabbed his hips to hold them still and using only his teeth, pulled down the zipper.

 

The trousers slid easily off Sherlock's slender hips and John made equally quick work of the alpha's pre-come soaked pants. John then stood and began removing his own clothes, telling Sherlock, "Touch yourself."

 

Sherlock obediently began to stroke his length and watched John through lust darkened eyes. John had intended to put on more of a show but his patience withered at the delicious sight before him.

 

Once naked, John crawled onto the end of the bed and placed his hands on Sherlock's knees, spreading them even further apart. Sherlock whimpered when John began placing kisses on the inside of his thighs.  Upon reaching Sherlock's erection, John gently licked the beads of moisture off the head and caressed the slit with his tongue.

 

With light kisses, John moved down to lick at Sherlock's balls and then down onto his perineum.  Finally he let his tongue travel to Sherlock's opening causing the alpha to buck his hips and cry out. John gave one more teasing lick before he sat back and reached for the bottle of lube.

Pouring a generous amount onto his hand, John began to massage the tight opening enough to insert the tip of one finger. Sherlock tried to sit up but John pushed him back down, asking "Do you want me to stop? We can go slower."

 

"No!" Sherlock nearly shouted. "It's just never felt that good before."

 

"Before?" John asked. "Do you finger yourself?"

 

Sherlock nodded his head. John couldn't help but pursue it. "When do you do it?"

 

"On my bed . . . sometimes in the shower," Sherlock said between pants.

 

John pushed in finger in deeper. "Who do you think about?"

 

"You," Sherlock said quickly.

 

"What about before you met me? Who did you think about then?"

 

Sherlock looked away, refusing to answer. In response, John shoved in two fingers causing to Sherlock to gasp and shout, "George."

 

"Who's George?" John asked as he eased his fingers back.

 

Sherlock hesitated again so John grabbed his cock and began to stroke it in time with his prods. "My fencing instructor from when I was young," Sherlock confessed desperately.

 

"Was he an alpha?" John asked, hoping for a yes.

 

Sherlock nodded and looked away as if in shame. John moaned at the idea of two alphas together; it was always one of his biggest turn-ons.

 

"Fuck, that's hot," John said and began to scissor his fingers. "People don't talk about it but it happens all the time in the army. Sex between alphas is amazing. Remind me to show you my video collection. Did you and he ever . . ."

 

"No," Sherlock said, cutting him off.

 

"That's a shame. It'll just be in my imagination," John said as he leaned down to place a teasing kiss on Sherlock's lips. With a low purr, John added, "Because I'm not letting anyone else have you."

 

John drove home his point by thrusting in a third finger. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck and drew him into a deep kiss.

When he finally pulled back, Sherlock moaned, "I'm ready."

 

"Are you sure?" John asked, "I don't want to rush you or-"

 

"For God's sake! Put it in or I won't last," Sherlock cried out impatiently.

 

John slicked his cock and lined up, pushing in as gently as possible. Sherlock, however, was having none of it and wrapped his long legs around John's waist and pulled him in tightly. John bottomed out in a matter of seconds and Sherlock shot a hand out to brace himself on the headboard.

 

John tried to give Sherlock a few moments to adjust but the lanky alpha kicked him in the back. Realizing what Sherlock was trying to do, John remained unmoving and leaned in to kiss him, whispering, "Let go. I've got you."

 

Sherlock met his gaze and seemed about to protest but at the last moment closed his eyes and nodded in understanding. His body began to relax and he allowed his legs to fall to the side. John peppered light kisses along his neck as he slowly started moving.

 

Gradually, John picked up the momentum and the underused bed began to creak in protest. As John thrust harder and deeper, Sherlock moved his hands to John's back, clinging in a way made John's heart ache with affection.

 

Sherlock's stuttering breaths and deep moans were proving so arousing that John knew neither were going to last much longer. Reaching between their bodies John began stroking Sherlock in time with his thrusts, causing the alpha to dig his nails into John's back. The pain was minor compared to the overwhelming pleasure that was being inside Sherlock.

 

Just when John felt himself close to coming, Sherlock squeezed around him and spurted over his hand. With his head thrown back, pale throat exposed, and deep voice crying out in pleasure, Sherlock was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. John's hips thrust forward erratically and he came inside Sherlock with a loud yell.  

 

The only sounds in the room were their labored breaths as John gently pulled out and strode over to the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a damp cloth and began cleaning up their mess. When John moved to clean the come he’d left in Sherlock, the alpha obediently spread his legs but chuckled softly, saying, “I never do that for you.”

 

John hummed in amusement and replied, “Yeah, that’s because you’re a prat.” He then leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips, saying, “But I love you for it.”

 

As he began to turn away, Sherlock reached out and pulled him back onto the bed. He then curled himself around John’s body. While resting his head on John’s chest, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

 

It was something John had known for quite some time. He told himself he didn’t actually need to have it vocalized and that perhaps Sherlock would never say it, but actually hearing the words brought John more joy than he ever thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There's no conflict in this chapter!" Wow, that turned kinda fluffy. I didn't know I had it in me. Don't worry, the next chapter will be dark.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 5 months. I suck. But here's the next chapter. I have two more after this. Please, if you're still reading, leave a comment so I'll know whether it's worth continuing. I promised someone a happy ending and so I assure you nothing too awful will happen after this.

 

"You're cleaning again," Sherlock grumbled as he sifted through documents he'd borrowed (probably stolen) from Mycroft.

"Yes, well, I happen to dislike the feeling of living in a hoarder's den," John said as he continued to tidy.

"People will think you're my maid," Sherlock said with a small grin.

"Aren't you used to that? I imagine you growing up in a regal manor being tended to by a flock of maids and nannies."

Sherlock mumbled, "You exaggerate. There was only one nanny, two maids, and a butler. I'm not as wealthy as you're imagining."

John couldn't help a mischievous grin as he replied, "And a fencing instructor."

At that, Sherlock looked up and the closest thing to a blush John had even seen on him appeared on his pale cheekbones.

John wanted to see more and, hoping for a similar response, asked, "How's your arse?"

Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily before he reigned in his surprise and answered blandly, "Sore."

"Too much for some noon time fun?" John asked, sauntering over to where Sherlock sat on the sofa.

Sherlock shifted away and went back to his reading. "I'm busy," he said with a curt huff.

John, feeling naughty and playful, snatched the papers out of Sherlock's hands and sank onto the alpha's lap, knees straddling his thighs. John ground his hips, smirking when he felt Sherlock's growing erection.

John leaned forward to lick the shell of Sherlock's ear and whisper, "If you're too sore, you could take me or I could just use my mouth."

Sherlock's hands gripped his waist and tightened just as the door to the flat opened. John startled, briefly panicked the alphas had come for him, but when he saw it was only Lestrade, he relaxed back onto Sherlock. 

"Hi Greg," John said in relief. 

"Why are you here? It's the middle of the day. Your date isn't until 7:00," Sherlock said with a mixture of irritation and confusion.

"I realize that," Lestrade said lifting his hands in a placating gesture. "As far as anyone knows, I'm here for a quickie."

John giggled but Sherlock only huffed and repeated, "Why are you here, Detective?"

Lestrade didn't even flinch at the rude attitude and instead his face turned serious as he said, "Something happened this morning and I wanted you to hear it from me before you read it somewhere."

John shifted off Sherlock's lap, not liking Greg's ominous tone.

"Gunter Haas was found dead this morning in his London penthouse," Lestrade said gravely.

John could feel Sherlock stiffen next to him and when he looked over, his lover's face had lost all expression. As for himself, John was struggling to remember where he had heard that name before.

Greg could see his confusion and explained, "Gunter Haas is, was, a German industrial magnate. He was an alpha bonded with-"

"Victor Trevor," John finished, his mind reeling with the implications of the situation. “How did he die?"

Greg shifted uncomfortably as he answered, "There will be an extensive investigation and autopsy but it appears to be-"

"Suicide," Sherlock finished, his tone flat and dark.

"Yeah," Greg said with a solemn nod. Sherlock stood and without saying anything, left the room.

John could only gawk in disbelief. "How . . . why," he stammered. "Why would a bonded alpha, a billionaire at that, commit suicide? Do they suspect foul play?"

"No, it's actually a pretty straight forward case. The investigation is merely a formality because of his status," Greg said. He then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "As for why, he left a detailed note. It was in German but Anderson did a rough translation for me."

"And? What did it say?" John asked impatiently.

Greg hesitated, fidgeting with his tie until he finally softly said, "You should talk to Sherlock about it. I'm guessing he already has a good idea." The detective then turned to leave.

Furious at such a cryptic response, John jumped off the sofa and grabbed Greg's arm. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"We were wrong," Greg said sadly. "We made assumptions about him and we were wrong. If he's going to talk to anyone, it'll be you."

John let go of Lestrade and stepped back, dumbfounded. Just before Greg reached the door, Sherlock came back down the stairs and sprayed something on him. He then reached out and roughly mussed Lestrade's hair to a reception of indignant grunts.

"Sherlock, is that my cologne?" John asked.

"If he came here to ravage you, it would look suspicious if he wasn't a bit disheveled upon his return," Sherlock said and pushed Lestrade out the door cutting off whatever else the detective had to say.

With a forced casualness, Sherlock strode over to the desk and began reviewing his experiment notes.

John watched him for a long moment and finally said, "It's not going to work."

"You're right," Sherlock said with a nod, his eyes not leaving the pages. "I'm going to need more bromide next time."

"Damn it, Sherlock!" John shouted. "Would you please, for once, just talk to me? Tell me what is going on."

Sherlock still didn't look up but his face finally changed and his indifferent mask slipped.

After a long silence he finally spoke. His voice lacked its usual strength and beauty. Instead, the alpha sounded broken as he all but whispered, "Victor was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

A dozen questions rattled through John's head as he slowly approached Sherlock like he would a wounded animal.

John laid a tentative hand on Sherlock's arm and asked gently, "Why did you never say anything?"

At that Sherlock finally looked at him but his eyes flashed with an irritated glare and he wrenched his arm away. All his weakness from a moment before was gone as he snapped his reply, "You asked me once about the way omegas smell. It's overpowering. Have you ever eaten ice cream too fast and felt your head protest? There's a constant, sickening sweetness to the air and you want to leave, clear your head, but you can't. It's as if you've lost the ability to think for yourself."

"Sherlock . . ."

"I hate it!" Sherlock spat venomously.

John recoiled and, for the first time in his life, felt afraid of Sherlock.

"It's a nasty trick of biology. A siren's song that strips a man of his freedom and independent thought," Sherlock growled as he turned to glare at John, "and you reek of it!"

John's mouth fell open as he struggled for some kind of response but all he could muster was a small squeak. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the rage vanished and Sherlock relaxed. He reached out to clasp John's shoulder and said warmly, "But this will be over soon. We'll catch these supremacists and everything will go back to normal." He then placed a kiss to John's forehead and murmured, "My dear John."

 

 

 

It was truly remarkable, Sherlock's ability to function as if nothing in the world was wrong. Often John wondered just what kind of childhood primed Sherlock for a lifetime of silent dysfunction. It had been a week since Haas' death and Sherlock seemed content to pretend nothing had happened.

The world was still recovering from its collective shock at the alpha's death. His suicide note was kept secret and his family maintained the death was due to a combination of stress and prescription medications. Victor Trevor declined to speak to the media and only appeared in public at the funeral. Speculation was everywhere ranging from stress over declining business to assassination. The theory catching the most attention on the internet involved a Romeo and Juliet - type situation where Haas was led to believe Victor had died and the German took his own life in grief.

John pleaded with Greg for days to let him read the translated note. When he finally caved and let John view the only copy, John was left in shock. It detailed years of constant emotional abuse. For a man that should have been on top of the world, Gunter Haas believed himself to be unworthy to breathe the same air as his bonded omega. Sherlock was only with Victor for five months but that was enough to drive him to drop out of school and turn to drugs. Haas was bonded to him for fifteen years. It was a wonder he even lasted so long.

The incident had created a serious problem for John and Sherlock’s plan. Haas' suicide was such big news that the omega/beta case was fading from the public forefront and the outrage was settling. Their window was shrinking. Greg had only received 32 pieces of hate mail and four death threats. Sherlock decided things needed to be accelerated. At the next high profile crime scene, he decided Lestrade should become jealous and possessive then publicly shout at John. He added that John should throw in some tears for good measure. John said he couldn't promise anything.

The first case suitably high profile was a well-loved stage actress gone missing. Sherlock had actually solved the thing before they even arrived. The woman's ex-husband had killed her and hid the body in the boot of his car.  But Sherlock wanted to put on a show of scouring her flat for clues. While Sherlock recited every deduction he could find, John played his part and clung to Greg.  

Lestrade seemed to notice John's mind wandering and gave his hand a supportive squeeze. John gave a small, reassuring smile to his fake boyfriend and nuzzled into his side. There was no question as to why Mycroft had gone to such lengths to keep Greg close. The man was kind, sensitive, and attentive. _All the things Sherlock isn't_ , John couldn't help but think bitterly.

Even if they nailed every alpha supremacist in the country and reversed all the terrible pro-alpha laws while singlehandedly leading a revolution for gender rights across the world, John was not sure if he could stay with Sherlock. If he wasn't so devastated, John would laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He was an omega spending his life pretending to be a beta only to fall in love with an alpha that hates omegas.

They hadn't so much as touched since the day of Haas' suicide. It had been an entire week of awkward small talk only alleviated by the mutual goal of drawing out the murderers of John's father. John was heartbroken and Sherlock barely seemed to notice.

Sherlock's deductions had quieted down to mainly mutterings as he continued to search the room for the nail clippers he insisted would be there. The mood at the scene suddenly shifted when a man John had never seen before entered. He seemed to exude a pompous air that shouted alpha even before John smelled him. Without even looking at her, the man asked Donovan, "Is that him?" while pointing at Sherlock.

Donovan snapped to attention and replied, "Yes sir. Sherlock Holmes. DI Lestrade called him in."

The man gave a cursory glance toward Greg and ignored John altogether. John had been spending enough time with Sherlock to realize something was amiss. With the state of his pheromones, no alphas ignored him.

"Who is that?" John whispered to Greg.

"The Chief Superintendent of police," Greg replied, already uneasy. “Randall Cartwright.”  

"He's not here to see Sherlock, is he?" John asked.

Greg's eyes narrowed, "No he isn't."

 

"So you're the man who's been doing my inspectors' jobs," the superintendent said.

Sherlock kept a blank mask as he replied, "It would appear so."

"How much are you charging for these services?" Cartwright asked, probably already knowing the answer.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, his impatience beginning to show.

"Working for free?" Cartwright said with fake surprise. "Are you some kind of vigilante?"

"Someone needs to solve these crimes," Sherlock answered, his jaw twitching. John could smell an intoxicating aroma coming from Sherlock in the form of territorial pheromones. A very inconvenient erection was beginning to grow.

"I suppose you think you're blessing us bumbling coppers with your superior intellect," Cartwright sneered as he stepped closer into Sherlock's personal space.

"Your words, not mine," Sherlock snapped back, clearly rising to the bait.

John knew that if they continued, Sherlock would get himself banned from any future crime scenes. It was a power move against Lestrade, pure and simple. 

John whispered to Greg, "You have to stop this."

Greg, having probably just realized the same thing as John, swore under his breath and stepped across the room to intervene.

However, Lestrade's attempt to placate the situation triggered Sherlock to only get angrier. When Sherlock began a rant about the interfering politics of law enforcement, his body delivered a wave of pheromones that usually only ever appeared in the bedroom. John's arousal grew from inconvenient to throbbing in a matter of seconds. 

John had no choice but to leave the room to try and calm down.

He stepped into the library and closed the door, stopping Sherlock's scent but still allowing his voice to sound through. John walked to the end of the room and opened a window, the cool night air helping to calm him. Taking a few deep breaths, John rested against a book shelf and prayed that Sherlock would realize he was being tricked and shut up.

"Well, well, well, John Watson," a voice purred behind him nearly startling John out of his skin. "Your reputation hardly does you justice."

"I'm sorry, what reputation?" John replied, trying to keep his distance.

"It's said that you're the most alluring man in London," Superintendent Cartwright purred.

The comment made John want to retch on the spot.

"I'd say you're the most beautiful man in the entire country."

John could only roll his eyes.

"It makes me wonder what a delicate, rare creature like you is doing with a beta like Lestrade." The man stepped closer into John's space and said softly, "Is he forcing you in some way? I know people, powerful people. I can help you."

'You're not fit to lick his boots' John wanted to say but instead he said as demurely as possible, "Greg is kind to me and gentle."

"Bless, you are too trusting, but that's to be expected of an omega," The man said with a pat to John's arm. "At your age and with your . . . smell, you must attract all kinds of unwanted attention from alphas. You probably feel safe and at ease with a beta."

"I love him," John said, digging his nails into his palm to avoid saying anything else.

"You think you do," the Superintendent said condescendingly. "Yes, now I'll admit that Lestrade is a loyal man, unusually competent for a beta. But you need more."

The man took a step closer but a shout from Sherlock in the other room, clearly still raging at the police trying to calm him, gave John an excuse to step back. 

Cartwright huffed and pointed at the door, "That Sherlock though. He's a bit of a looney if you ask me."

Something instinctual inside John bristled. He replied through clenched teeth, "Sherlock is a brilliant detective."

"More of a freak really. How else can you explain that he lives with an unbonded omega and allows him to cohort with a beta?  There's something quite wrong with him."

"Just because he hasn't tried to shag me doesn't mean there's something wrong with him."

"Oh yes it does," Cartwright said as he reached a hand out to John's waist. "You're irresistible. Your body is screaming for a good hard fuck from a proper alpha. Lestrade can't possibly fulfil your basic needs."

The hand at John's waist slid back and onto his arse. John's breath hitched when the man began to push a finger between his cheeks.

"In the end, you're just a desperate slut craving a big knot," the man said as he leaned in and licked John's ear, whispering, "I can smell it."

The built up rage finally broke free and John punched the superintendent in the nose as hard as possible. The man staggered backward clutching at his bleeding face as John shouted, "How about now? Can you smell it now?"

 

The superintendent staggered and bumped into a table, sending a vase crashing to the floor. The noise alerted the police in the next room who rushed in to help Cartwright. Once they had guided him outside, Greg grabbed John by the shoulders and asked urgently, "Are you alright? What did he do to you?"

But John's eyes turned to Sherlock. Where he expected thinly veiled rage, he saw only an amused, almost curious expression. John had just been sexually harassed by the superintendent of police and Sherlock wasn't the least bit bothered.

Sherlock turned to the gawking onlookers and said, "I think we're done here." He then turned to a DS and asked, "Is the ex-husband still being held for questioning?"

"Umm . . . yes, he is," the DS stammered.

"Sharp response," Sherlock snapped. "Good, he's your killer. Has the body in the boot of his car. Her nail clippers, hair brush, and make-up will be in his flat.  He has an odd fetish, it was why they divorced."

Sherlock then took out his phone and checked for messages. "Ah, the frost bite samples just arrived." As he walked out the room, he shouted back, "This should take the better part of the night. John, since you're staying with Lestrade, I'll phone Mrs. Hudson to make sure the door is locked." 

Greg nodded, understanding Sherlock's meaning and draped an arm around John's shoulders. By the time they exited the building, Sherlock was long gone and they were greeted by a throng of reporters, but their questions had nothing to do with the case and instead were directed to John and Greg.

_"John Watson! Is it true you served in the military?"_

 

_"What are your thoughts on the recent omega/beta murder?"_

 

_"Is there really an effective omega suppressant?"_

 

_"Is your relationship with DI Lestrade sexual?"_

Without answering anything, they piled into a car and headed toward NSY. Upon arrival, officers gawked shamelessly as Greg took John's hand and led him into his office.

 

 

"What the hell was that? Where did they get that information?" Greg asked, opening his laptop. John paced nervously as Greg searched.

After a few minutes, he waved John over, "According to the AP, the information came from a pro-alpha blog running an article entitled, ' _Secret Omegas Being Hidden by Beta Extremists_.' John, you're the main focus. It has photos from your military file and an anonymous source within Scotland Yard testifying you are being controlled by DI Lestrade, a known beta rights activist." Greg sat back, a grim look on his face, "This is it then. It's happening. They'll make their move any time now."

John knelt down next to him and placed his hand on his knee. "You can still back out. Mycroft will be more than happy to place you in protective custody."

Greg gave a sad smile and said, "No, I'm not _backing out_. This is more important than either of us."

In that instant, John could have sworn his father was sitting in front of him. John leaned forward and gave Lestrade a soft kiss on the cheek while grasping his hand in reassurance.

Greg rested his forehead against John's and whispered, "John, whatever happens next, I want you to know-"

He was cut off by Donovan opening the door and with a voice laced with worry, announcing, "Lestrade, the superintendent wants to see you."

"Of course he does," Greg huffed and stood, straightening his tie.

John made to follow him but Greg placed a hand on his chest and said, "Wait here for me; I'll just be a minute."

He then kissed John on the lips and walked down the corridor. John could only wait ten minutes before he lost patience and went to look for Lestrade.

As he walked through the corridors, John took out his phone and tried texting Sherlock, but for the first time noticed how swollen his knuckles were. His hand was so sore, he couldn't type anything. With all the adrenaline and chaos, he actually forgot he was in incredible pain. As he paced, John attempted to flex his fingers but found even that was too much for him. 

John's thoughts couldn't help but turn to Sherlock. Where was he? Was this all part of his grand scheme or had someone gained the upper hand over the Holmes brothers?

He lost track of time as he worried about Lestrade and raged over Sherlock. John jumped when he felt someone touch his shoulder. A young officer was holding out an ice pack for his swollen hand.

John gave him a skeptical look but the young man placed the pack on his hand anyway and said, "You looked like you could use it."

John mumbled his thanks but the officer kept going, "Perhaps you should get an x-ray, check for anything broken. I could give you a lift to the hospital."

John rolled his eyes and said bitterly, "You know how I got this, right? I punched your superintendent in the face." The officer nodded dumbly as John continued, his voice rising with frustration, "I punched him, broke his nose, not more than an hour ago. Why the hell are you helping me? Why am I not being arrested?"

At that, the officer chuckled nervously.

"What!?" John snapped.

"You're . . . you're a . . ." he stammered.

"An omega?" John answered and the officer nodded. "So because I'm an omega, I'm incapable of hurting someone?"

"You probably had good reason. I heard that he had you cornered. You spooked and lashed out. Love, it's only natural. Someone as delicate as you couldn't have done any real damage. In fact, I think your hand is worse off than his face. Hey George," the officer called out to one of the growing number of onlookers as he rested a hand on John's forehead to check for a fever. "Can you get a medic up here?"

John roughly shoved the man away from him and nearly growled as he asked, "Have you ever been shot in the line of duty? I was shot in Afghanistan with a Kalashnikov.  It hit my shoulder here." John pointed to his old wound. "I nearly bled out and died. As I was lying in the sand, waiting for an evac, praying to God that I wouldn't die in the desert, do you know what my commanding officer told me? He said 'Chin up, Watson.' "

An older alpha sergeant stepped up from the group of gawking men and said gently, "Son, no one is saying you're weak, we realize this was an accident and there was no harm intended. Now, why don't we-"

"I broke his nose," John shouted, cutting the man off. "I know I broke it because I'm a doctor and a soldier. I can pull my punches. He talked shite about my boyfriend and groped my arse, if there hadn't been a dozen coppers standing right outside the door, I'd have killed him. I don't need your concern and I certainly don't want your affection. So if you're not going to arrest me then leave me the FUCK ALONE!"

Silence enveloped the corridor as John tried to catch his breath. Just as he closed his eyes to reign in his temper, he felt a blanket being draped around his shoulders. Something inside John snapped. He threw the blanket to the floor and shouted, "I'm not in fucking shock! Where the hell is Lestrade?"

The flock of alphas could only stare dumbly. John marched down the corridor and yelled out, "Donovan, where's Lestrade?"

Sally looked up from her computer and answered, "He went home. They suspended him and he left."

"Wait, did you see him leave or did they just tell you he left?" John asked, panic evident in his voice.

"Someone told me. What's going on?" Donovan asked in confusion.

"Where's the superintendent's office?" John demanded and ran in the direction Donovan pointed at.

 

_'When they come for you, you have to act surprised.'_

_'What if they try to . . . touch me?'_

_'They won't. You're too important politically to risk injuring.'_

_'How can you be sure?'_

_'I can't.'_

_'So I just play along and place all my hope with you and Mycroft?'_

_'We have a plan.'_

_'Oh yes, the master plan you won't tell me about. Why again can't you explain it to me?'_

_'Do you trust me, John?'_

_' . . . I want to.'_

 

As John burst into the room, he didn't even have time to enjoy the sight of Superintendent Cartwright holding an ice pack to his swollen face. Instead, he slammed his good hand down on the desk and roared, "Where is he?"

"You've been a hard man to track down," Cartwright said, ignoring John's question. "Literally under my nose for months. That drug is more effective than we thought. I have to congratulate you on your cleverness; what better way to hide from the government than from within it? The military, the last place anyone would look for an omega. I'm assuming that was your father's idea."

"I'm a British citizen and I have every right to serve my country," John answered.

"Look how blissfully ignorant you are. You’ve been playing at being a beta, being normal all these years, but that ends now. Lestrade has overstepped his bounds. He should have known better. And after what happened to your father, you _definitely_ should have known better than to provoke us."

"So he _was_ murdered then. Did you have a hand in it?" John accused, not knowing what he'd do if the man confirmed it in front of him.

Cartwright scoffed, "Don't be silly, I was just a PC then. I hadn't even heard of the Watson Omega until I was promoted five years ago to superintendent. Your father was a top level priority. _I_ don't even know who ordered that hit. When it became known that one of my beta DIs was involved with an omega, I was tasked to monitor it. When it became obvious that omega was the son of Andrew Watson, I was given charge over your surveillance. A couple of hours ago, the Watson Omega became a public figure. I was told to confront him. I apologize for the groping, but your scent is . . . overpowering."

John rolled his eyes and asked, "How exactly did I become public?"

"With the Science of Deduction," Cartwright sneered.

"No," John said softly.

“Oh yes, your dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, wrote that article. He even sent a copy to me personally before he published it.”

“Why would he do that?” John said, feigning shock.

“Who knows why a lunatic like him does anything. Perhaps it was to show up his older brother. He found the Watson omega so easily after Mycroft had spent so many years failing. Taking big brother's job: now won't that impress Mummy?”

"Mycroft works for this . . . organization?"

“Not for much longer. Mycroft has been a . . . disappointment. Sherlock is eccentric and obnoxious, but he has an aptitude for investigation and an obvious lack of _emotional_ interference.”

John clenched his fists and tried to remind himself that this was part of Sherlock's plan.

“John Watson, you have a choice," Cartwright said, his voice losing its earlier arrogance and lechery. "I'm giving you this one chance. Run. Use those military skills and flee. Take whatever you have left of your father's drug and get out of the country. No one will stop you.”

John could only gape at the genuine concern coming from the man.

“After this,” the superintendent pointed at his nose, “I was ordered to take you in . . . but I don't want to. I find the idea of a public bonding distasteful, but that is what awaits you if you continue to push."

A tremble of fear ran through John's body, “They wouldn’t.”

“They already have a collar picked out," Cartwright replied with a disturbing matter-of-fact tone.

"I'm not going to abandon Greg," John stated.

"His fate is sealed. Don't allow sentiment to drag you down with him."

John wavered. He hated himself for it, but he felt his resolution weaken.

_'Do you trust me, John?'_ Sherlock's voice rang through his head.

John squared his shoulders and said flatly, "I'm not going anywhere."

Cartwright sighed and pressed a button on his intercom. Within seconds, the door opened and two uniformed officers bustled in, jabbing John in the neck with a hypodermic needle. John felt his consciousness slipping away as he slumped into their arms.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the show, the superintendent doesn't have a name so I just made one up. It was awkward not having one. I'm obviously American, so if I have the hierarchy of British police all messed up, it's because I know nothing about it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains mentions of past non-con/underage

It was over. Done. Finished. Jim felt as if he could finally breathe free. Carl had collapsed during a business meeting with a cause of death labeled as cardiac arrest. There was no autopsy but nothing would've been found anyway. The poison Jim had been feeding him for months was undetectable after death.

With his perfected look of pleading omega eyes, Jim made arrangements to be the last person to view the body. As he approached the casket, he struggled not to burst out laughing. Reaching into his coat pocket, Jim produced a slim, leather band, studded with diamonds. Carl gave it to him five years ago for his sixteenth birthday, a lavish celebration held four months after they had bonded.

It had been a Thursday when Jim went into heat for the first time. He was in calculus when he noticed that he was sweating. An alpha went to the board to solve a problem and as he explained his proof, Jim felt a tremor course through his body. Without saying a word, Jim stood and ran from the room, not stopping until he had barricaded himself in his bedroom.

Three agonizing hours later, his father came home and Jim risked popping his head out to beg for help. He could only pray that the man was sober for once.

"Dad!" Jim called.

"Why you ain't at school, boy?" Seamus said clearly. If he wasn't slurring his words, then he was sober enough to reason with.

"I've gone into heat."

"Heat? What like an . . ."

"Omega, yes," Jim interrupted. "Listen: there's a sex shop on Marcus Avenue. I need you to go and get me some omega toys. I also need food and water, enough for three days."

Jim was met with only silence so he added, "I'll pay you back when this is over."

Seamus raked a hand through his greasy hair and took a long draught from his flask. Jim begged, "Please, Dad. Please."

Finally, his father nodded and left the house. Jim nearly wept in relief.

It was another two hours until Jim heard the front door open. He was four fingers into his arse and trembling so hard the bed frame was knocking against the wall. When he heard the rap on his door, Jim didn't even bother with clothes before jumping to his feet and moving the dresser out of the way. However, the person on the other side was not his father. Instead, it was a balding man in his fifties wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

For years, Jim would go over that moment in his head and wonder why he didn't fight or run for help. He would fantasize about grabbing a lamp and smashing the stranger's head. He would imagine the look of shock on his face when the man realized he had a knife lodged in his gut. But Jim had been young, desperate, and out of his mind with omega lust.

Jim stood, dumb struck as the alpha carefully undressed and searched with disdain for a place to store his clothes. There were no introductions or explanations, he only cooed and gave little words of reassurance as he maneuvered Jim onto the bed.

It took 12 hours for the alpha to convince Jim to present his neck for bonding.  After biting harshly into the swollen gland Jim didn't even know he had, the alpha with Jim's blood staining his teeth, whispered, "My name is Carl Powers and you are the luckiest omega in the world."

When the heat had finally dissipated, Carl climbed off Jim and left the room. It wasn't until Jim heard the shower running that he began to cry. He was sore, thirsty, and filled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness that he knew could only be fixed by having Carl with him again. Jim was really truly trapped.

When Jim finally reined in his sobbing, he noticed a figure standing meekly in the doorway.

With a strained voice, Jim said, "Dad, why?"

Seamus began to speak but was cut off when Carl appeared and slapped him amiably on the back, saying, "Moriarty, don't bother with bags, he won't need any of these _things_. Does he have allergies I should be aware of?"

"No," Seamus said solemnly sparing one fleeting glance for Jim. "So everything's been taken care of?"

Carl rolled his eyes as he said, "Yes, yes, your debt is cleared. My solicitor is on the way with the paperwork."

Seamus nodded and began to walk away when Carl grabbed his arm. His voice dropped to a dangerous tone as he said, "Remember: if I hear about you or that crack head wife of yours coming within 100 kilometers of us, you're dead. Any attempt at contact and I have you hacked into bits and fed to my dogs. You understand?"

Seamus only nodded and skulked downstairs. Jim vomited. Carl turned away in disgust and said, "Go clean yourself up. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

 

True to his word, Jim's father never tried to contact him. That didn't stop Jim from running away while Carl was visiting one of his mistresses. It wasn't easy since he had no ID or money, but he was able to make it back home. His parents, however, were long gone. An elderly couple lived there instead. Jim burst into tears when he found out that they had moved in only a week after Jim left. The sympathetic couple didn't hesitate to take Jim inside and feed him. Carl's people found him three hours later. He wasn't allowed outside for a month.

 

As bad as the isolation was, Jim hated the parties more. Carl would dress Jim in his collar and a pair of tight shorts. Alphas paraded their omegas like exotic pets to sit at the feet of the _real_ men as they made their business deals. However, Jim made good use of his time and listened carefully. Names, faces, dates, and locations were committed to memory. 

 

Carefully, Jim began to ask questions. Most were rebuffed as being none of his business, but Carl eventually began to discuss some of his dealings. Jim treated the information as a turn-on. The more things Carl told him, the more responsive Jim was. Within two years, Carl consulted Jim on every decision. Carl's underlings went from addressing him as _Carl's Whore,_ to _Jim,_ to _Mr. Moriarty,_ to _Boss._

 

The day Carl altered his will and left everything to Jim was when the poisoning began. Every drink Jim served him or meal he cooked was a step closer to freedom. He endured each beating and rape with the knowledge that he was winning the long game. Standing before Carl's corpse was the happiest moment of his life. He gleefully took the diamond collar and tightened it onto Carl's fat neck. It barely fit. He had to squeeze the flesh until embalming fluid began to leak from his nose.

 

The bereavement year was spent growing Carl's organization into an empire. With the money from Carl's considerable estates, the hefty life insurance payout, and the profits of a massive South American cocaine sale, Jim, using multiple aliases, bought two night clubs, three casinos, a chemical research facility, a horse track, three horses, a minority share in a major airline, one brewery, two wineries, a private security firm, five European newspapers, two British newspapers, seven U.S. newspapers, twelve U.S. congressmen, two U.S. senators, three British MPs **,** a Croatian weapons plant, and a British plastics factory. The factory was forced to shut down a year later after a tragic explosion killed three workers including Parts Inspector, Seamus Moriarty. His widow shot herself the next month.

 

Jim simply adored his government appointed guard. She towered over him and had arms thicker than his legs. She never leered at him the way his male underlings tended to. He always felt safe in her presence. He tried hiring her permanently after the year was over but she refused. While she never commented on it, Jim could tell she detested his growing criminal empire. He couldn't bring himself to the point of killing her in person and had one of his men take her out. It was made to look like a mugging gone wrong.

 

Jim only took pleasure in killing alphas. Every three months, he would find an alpha to soothe his base needs. As soon as the heat had passed, Jim would find a new, creative way to draw out the man's death. Although his foot soldiers possessed the IQs of Neanderthals, they were skilled at hiding bodies.

 

But perhaps they had begun to grow weary of the constant bloodshed of other alphas, because one day three of his guards presented him with a business card.  They said there were people that helped omegas. That was how Jim became involved with the European Omega Liberation Front and he was made aware of a scientist named Andrew Watson. 

 

Watson's omega suppression drug gave Jim what he always craved: anonymity. He no longer needed to transact business from behind a locked door. He could walk amongst a crowd, talk with strangers, and his men stopped staring at him like the hungry dogs they were. Jim knew he had to meet the man responsible for giving him a new life. Watson was not easy to contact but after a particularly pleading letter where Jim promised to fund manufacturing and distribution of the drug, the scientist finally agreed to meet.

 

Only Jim was too late. He attended the funeral. It seemed only right to pay his respects in person. He met three people there. The first was an older gentleman that Jim recognized as Reginald Walters, a known alpha supremacy fundamentalist. It was stunningly clear he had led Watson to his death. Jim had him poisoned slowly over the next seven years. Before the man died of a heart attack in his third rate retirement home, he suffered through chronic poor health, bankruptcy, a house fire, a lengthy divorce, three car accidents, the deaths of all his children, and was struck by lightning. Jim wasn't actually responsible for the last one but he enjoyed it all the same.

 

The second person Jim met was Watson's ex-wife. He disliked her immediately. She was cruel to her daughter and indifferent to Watson's death. She had only attended to flaunt her new husband in front of Watson's family. Her husband lost his job the next month and was imprisoned for stock fraud. She took to the bottle just like the daughter she mocked so often and died of liver failure the next year. Jim's top chemist received a 50% bonus for that lovely creation. 

 

The third person Jim met was John Watson, Andrew's only son. It was love at first sight. Well, as close to love as Jim Moriarty ever came. He could see plainly that John was the omega Watson created the drug for. Jim also understood Watson's plans for his son and why he was encouraged into the military. John Watson became the saint of the liberation movement and fueled their drive toward freedom without ever knowing it.

 

*********

 

"Are you Sebastian Moran?" Jim asked as he shut the door to the private room.

"That depends. Who are you?" Moran replied curtly. The man crossed his arms and slouched back in his chair.

Jim sat on the other side of the table and took out a file. He pretended to read over it, allowing for an awkward moment of silence.

"How's your leg?" Jim finally asked.

"It's better," Moran said with a shrug.  "Are you a doctor?"

Jim ignored him and continued, "During the attack, you and five other privates reported being saved by an army doctor named John Watson. Is this correct?"

"We'd of all died if it weren't for Dr. Watson. I owe him my life," Moran said as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I submitted a request with my commanding officer for a commendation of bravery. Is that what this is about?"

"Yes, it is. Did you know that while your commanding officer submitted it, the commendation was rejected without review?"

"Why?" Moran asked with a flash of indignation.

"Dr. Watson is a beta, as is Captain Davis, and so are you. A commendation would have meant a promotion for Watson and the army does not promote betas anymore than required as part of the 1968 gender equality act."

"Bastards," Moran mumbled angrily.

"Besides, Dr. Watson would not have wanted it anyway. In fact, he wants as little attention paid to him as possible." 

"Oh yeah and why's that?" Moran said with a raised eyebrow.

Jim had one last moment of hesitation. This would be the first person outside the Liberation front to know of John Watson. However, Jim had read Moran's report on the attack and was 90% certain the man would be sympathetic to their cause. Besides the man came from a military family and his discharge had made him an outcast. He was just desperate enough that Jim could sway him.

"John Watson is an omega."

Moran stared incredulously and then laughed, "You're fuckin' with me, aren't you?"

Jim stared back in response.

"How'd he get in the military then?" Moran asked skeptically.

"He takes a hormone suppressant. It prevents omega estrus and masks his scent. He's indistinguishable from a beta."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm taking it as well."

"You're an omega? Fuck off," Moran said with a scoff. "Why don't you get bonded then, live the easy life?"

"Being bonded is hardly the easy life, especially when it’s with a fat, balding, sadistic gangster that chains you to the radiator when he's angry and beats you with an extension cord. No, I will most definitely not be bonding again."

"So what, did you off him or something?" Moran asked jokingly.

Jim gave a small nod as answer.

Moran raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh yeah? Well good for you. Hope you got his money at least."

"Oh, I got everything," Jim replied with a grin.

"So what's any of this got to do with me?"

"You said you owed your life to Doctor Watson, did you mean that?"

"Absolutely," Moran said. "Listen: everyone was ordered out of that building. We was trapped. Nobody cared about a batch of beta enlisted, except for the doctor. He went back in and led us out. I heard he was even formally reprimanded for that."

"He was and your career ended. The leg was just an excuse," Jim said noticing Moran's jaw stiffen. "What I need is someone on the inside, high ranked, to pull strings in favor of betas, report troop movements, that sort of thing. The top brass are rigidly alpha and sadly hard to seduce. Believe me, we've tried. If you turn out to be as useful as I think you'll be then I can see a promising career ahead for you."

"Hate to break it to you, but they invalided me out. My military _career_ is over."

"Your leg is almost completely healed. The wound wasn't that serious to begin with. A year in a private training facility in Switzerland and you'll be better than ever. Then you'll spend roughly 64 months in officer training for the Royal Marines." 

"They only take alphas and in case you haven't noticed, I ain't no alpha."

"No, but with a careful regime of a new drug we've developed, no one will be able to tell the difference," Jim said with a small smile. "How would you like to make daddy and mummy the proud parents of a marine?"

"What's your name?"

"James Moriarty."

Moran sat silently for a long moment and stared directly at Jim whose calm demeanor masked his racing heart. Finally Moran gave a small smile and answered, "Alright boss, when do we start?"

 

***********

 

Holmes. Of course it was a Holmes. Of all the people in London for John to meet and befriend, he finds the youngest son of the Holmes family. Jim was incensed.

"I want him dead," Jim declared, smashing his fist into his desk.

Seb jumped back on instinct. Jim was deadly when he was irate.

"You know you can't do anything to a Holmes," Seb reasoned. "They would trace it back to you."

"You think I'm scared of them!?" Jim yelled hysterically.

"No, but we're at a critical juncture and it could expose everything. The Front is demanding discretion."

"The Front? You mean Victor Trevor," Jim snapped bitterly. "I was leading the Front when Victor was still sitting collared at his alpha's feet. He'd still be hosting fundraisers for orphaned baby seals if I hadn't recruited him."

"He has a _fondness_ for Sherlock Holmes," Seb added.

" _Sentiment is the enemy of freedom."_ Jim often recited the Front's codes when agitated. "All of this will be for nothing if John Watson bonds."

Seb hardly needed a reminder. Everyone knew that with Watson back in London, the Front finally had its chance for a big public move.

"You heard Victor, Sherlock is _insufferable_. Watson won't last a week as his flatmate," Seb said calmingly. "John is simply lonely and unused to civilian life. If anything, Holmes may turn him off of alphas for good."

Jim petulantly sank into his chair and contemplated Seb's words. Moran knew that he was one of the only people in the world that could speak to Jim Moriarty in such a manner and live to tell the tale. Still, he was scared. Over the past 10 years he had faced terrorists, insurgents, warped alpha marines, scalding desert, and devastating ocean storms but he was never afraid like he was when Jim Moriarty was angry.

"You may be right," Jim finally answered, sending a wave of relief through Seb. "But I won't risk it. He's investigating the cabbie, right?"

Seb nodded warily. "Then have the cabbie do it. Holmes tracks serial killers and he's then targeted by one. No one will suspect anything. Promise the cabbie double his fee."

"Alright, Boss," Seb replied. He knew nothing good would come from arguing further.

 

***********

 

_Alphas are so dumb,_ Seb thought to himself as he passed by the sleeping guards. For all their purported superior intelligence, alphas were so ignorant to the reality around them that it was playfully easy to integrate himself amongst the ranks of their _Alpha Brotherhood_. He desperately hoped it would be the last time he had to do so. Those years in the military, pretending to be the same macho shithead as those around him, had drained Seb in ways he hadn't expected. All he wanted was to lay off the damn medication and spend what few years he had left in peace. But Watson needed him and that thought alone kept him going.

 

Seb had to admit that the Holmes brothers had surprised him. Jim certainly wouldn't have expected this turn of events. If he had any idea that the Holmes' would be sympathetic to the cause, Jim would probably still be alive. Mycroft lacked Jim's ruthlessness but he certainly could match him in cunning. And Sherlock was hardly the cold fish that Victor Trevor made him out to be. Seb doubted that even John realized the depth of Sherlock's love for him.

 

John had been captive for five days. The room they kept John in resembled a high class hotel suite which must have riled John to no end. A steel prisoner chamber he would have understood but to be treated like a trapped princess was too much for his ego. Seb had a hell of a time keeping guards away from his room. A forty year old, never bonded omega apparently rattled their brains to the extent that they completely forgot their orders. _Watson is not to be touched on punishment of death._ Seb would have laughed at such a line if it weren't for the fact that he knew they were serious.

 

John hadn't exactly helped matters with his behavior. The first day he screamed and bashed the door with a desperate futility. After passing out from sheer exhaustion, John seemed to come back to his senses but stayed on high alert. Unfortunately, his constant pacing and agitation only increased his pheromone production. One guard said he smelled like _cornered prey_ , whatever the fuck that meant. His meals were slid through a slot on the bottom of the door and no one was allowed inside his room. That didn't stop one enamored guard from breaking in and begging John to run away with him. His answer came in the form of a vase to the head and a cracked rib.

 

Seb only had five minutes before someone noticed the drugged guards and the broken surveillance equipment. However, he had to be cautious or John would knock him out before they had a chance to speak. After unlocking and opening the door slowly, Seb crept in, his hands up in surrender. John was nowhere to be seen. The room was in immaculate order and appeared as if no one had ever been there. Seb was hardly fooled.

 

Seb heard a tell-tale rustling inside the closet. As he approached the door, readying himself for attack with a coat hanger or shoe horn, his feet were pulled out from beneath him and John Watson rolled out from under the bed. In a flurry of rather impressive hand to hand combat, John had Seb pinned on his stomach, arms wrenched around his back with a shiv carved from a hairbrush pressed against his jugular.

 

"Watson," Seb managed to squeak out. "Watson, stand down. I'm only here to talk."

 

John's body stiffened in confusion as he looked at Seb more carefully. "You're . . .?" John stammered. "You're Moriarty's . . ."

 

"Yes, Sebastian Moran, former colonel, British Royal Marines," Seb answered stiffly. "I'm here to-"

 

John cut him off by pressing the blade closer. "You killed that alpha boy, Glenn."

 

"Yeah, following orders," Seb rasped. "You know how it goes."

 

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Seb felt a trickle of blood leak down his neck. "Sher . . . Sherlock," Seb gasped desperately. John eased the shiv back slightly. "Sherlock sent me in. Him and Mycroft have a plan. I was placed in the organization to keep you safe. Do you honestly think anyone escapes once Mycroft Holmes has them imprisoned?"

 

That seemed to register since John cautiously let his arms go and climbed off him.

 

He sat on the floor across from Seb and asked, "Where's Greg?"

 

Seb pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his neck as he answered, "Lestrade is safe. His room isn't nearly as nice as this one but he's unharmed. He may be a beta but he's still a police officer and they respect that."

 

"Odd, the things they respect," John mumbled.

 

"You have no idea. I've lived amongst them for ten years. Now do you want to talk about the paradoxes of the pea-brained alphas or do you want to know about this plan?"

 

"Start talking," John demanded.

 

"Mycroft is working with the Omega Liberation Front. They're ready to make their move. These alphas are waiting for you to go into heat so they can publicly bond you."

 

"That won't be for another six weeks," John said. "I don't want them touching me," he added in a smaller voice.

 

"They won't. That's what I'm here for. As for your heat, you need to take this drug," Seb said as he reached into his pocket to retrieve a small vial.  "This will simulate an omega heat but without the risk of bonding."

 

John began to reach for the vial but then stopped, asking, "Are there any side effects?"

 

"Lots," Seb replied. "Your dad wasn't just good, he was the best. That drug he made for you is near perfect. No one's been able to recreate its effects for other hormones. I should know. I’ve been their guinea pig for a decade now."

 

"What’s yours for?” John asked.

 

"Makes me smell like an alpha," Seb replied.

 

"Wait, you're a beta?”

 

"We all got our secrets. If this whole thing works then maybe we won't need them anymore,” Seb said hoping to end the discussion.

 

“Why are you putting yourself through this? Moriarty is dead, you have no stake,” John said.

 

Seb found himself suddenly irritated with John’s attitude, “Watson, you aren't the only one with something to lose here. Your dad knew that. This is for the cause, for countless generations to come. We’re going to change the world.”

 

“I know that,” John stated defensively.

 

“Do you? ‘Cause it seems to me that you’re wavering. Quakin’ in your boots ‘bout some men handlin’ you rough and a drug makin’ your stomach queasy,” Seb said as he leaned in closer to John. With an accusing finger, he asked, “Are you really committed, Watson?”

 

“Of course,” John bristled, wrenching the vial from Seb’s hand. “I’m a doctor, I’m curious about what I’m taking. Just tell me about any serious side effects.”

 

Seb raised an eyebrow and explained, “This drug will mimic a heat cycle but any alpha you're with won't knot, you won't be satisfied. You'll be irritable at best, crazed with anger at worst. This will not be a pleasant experience." John nodded his understanding. "Take this with your next meal and we'll handle the rest."

 

Seb stood and checked the corridor for movement. He could hear voices in the distance.

 

"You said they all have side effects," John inquired in a low voice. "What comes with yours?"

 

"My heart," Seb said as he placed a hand over his chest. "The drug exerts extreme pressure on the cardiac system. I'll be lucky to make it to 45.”

 

John’s face contorted with sadness and Seb saw red. “Don’t you look at me like that! I knew what I was getting into and I don’t regret it. Now you need to quit with the whiney omega bullshit and do what you have to, _Captain_.”

 

As Seb heard footsteps coming closer to the door, he whispered to John, "They’re coming. I need you to punch me in the face. They'll want to-"

 

Seb was cut off by a mean right hook and then a kick in the balls for good measure. He fell back into the corridor as John's door slammed in front of him and locked. Seb began his act.

 

With a pleading, crazed voice, Seb yelled, "John! Listen, I'll take care of you. We'll be good together. Please let me back in. I love you, John!"

 

Two guards grabbed Seb by the shoulders and dragged him away screaming. He was taken to the break room and the supervising Brotherhood guard, Vincent, stormed in after them. Grabbing a bottle of water, he tossed the contents in Seb’s face and said, “Get a hold of yourself, Moran! I expected this from these other apes but I thought you marines were more disciplined. Someone explain to me what the _fuck_ happened.”

 

One of the other guards answered, “Sir, Moran drugged the attending brothers and disabled the security equipment. He was only in for a few minutes. It looks like Watson handled things himself.”

 

Vincent laughed heartily. “So he did! That omega is something else,” he said fondly.  “Look, Moran, if I report this to the Brotherhood, they’ll want your head. I understand why you did it. Believe me: I’ve thought of doing the same thing myself, but we have to be the better men here. You understand?”

 

Seb hung his head and nodded his understanding.

 

Vincent patted his shoulder in reassurance and said, “Good. Now go take a cold shower and report back for your shift at 1400.”

 

Seb replied, “Thank you, brother. It won’t happen again.”

 

“It better not,” Vincent replied darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the set up for the ending. I've outlined two more chapters after this. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments. They've kept me going these last few months. I will finish this story, I promise.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruh roh! John's in trouble.

John glanced over at the alarm clock. An hour. He'd taken that damn drug an hour before and he still felt exactly the same. John cursed Moran and his stupid speech. John should have known better than to take a drug Moriarty's henchman offered him. He still couldn't believe the man was a beta. He had smelled absolutely divine. Not as good as Sherlock but still enticing.

Sherlock. John wished Sherlock was with him. He loved feeling Sherlock's lithe body wrapped around him. He especially loved Sherlock's hands and how they felt pressed inside him. John would give anything for Sherlock to be opening him up right then. Or better yet, he would enter Sherlock. There was nothing sweeter than when Sherlock begged in that deep voice strained with lust. John reached a hand down and massaged his growing erection.

"Oh no," John whispered to himself. It had started. John's eyes darted around the room. His body began trembling. To steady his shaking hands, John fisted the duvet roughly. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and his heart rate was escalating. To John's horror, his arsehole was twitching and leaking. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to reach into his pants and finger himself.

Outside his door, he could hear whispers and shuffling feet. He could hear the rattling of chains and the snapping of leather. _They're coming,_ John thought frantically.

As quietly as possible, John rolled off the bed and squeezed underneath it. They had taken his shiv after Moran's visit but he had a backup made from his toothbrush. He reached into the small hole in the mattress where he kept it and slid it into the sleeve of his jumper.

The indistinct voices seemed to intensify as John thought he could hear scratching at his door.  _A dog._ They had a hound dog with them! John knew it could smell him and was ready to tear into his flesh. John shook so hard the back of his head hit the mattress. The scratching at the door grew louder and John could hear snarling, panting. He was a cornered rabbit, ready to be devoured by beasts.

Damn Sherlock! Damn Mycroft! They had led him into a trap and no one was coming to rescue him. He never should have trusted alphas. They had probably arranged the whole thing from the start. John had never felt so stupid, so foolish in his entire life. Moriarty had tried to save him and he was killed. If John had listened to him, would he have been murdered as well?

John then cursed his father. If he hadn't planted those damned ideas of love and romance, John would never have fallen for someone as obviously two-faced as Sherlock Holmes. Maybe Donovan was right and Sherlock really was just a psycho freak. Without realizing it, tears begin to stream down John's face as he imagined Sherlock and Mycroft having a good laugh at his expense. He was to be bonded while they would receive knighthoods from a grateful nation.

Well, John Watson was going to be no one's entertainment. Sliding the shiv out of his sleeve, John looked carefully at the makeshift blade and wondered if it would be sharp enough. An exploratory nick at his wrist proved it wouldn't be able to make the cut clean enough to bypass clotting. Contemplating his options, John rolled out from under the bed and scurried to the bathroom, searching for another option.

When he found nothing suitable, John gazed desperately at the mirror. He could only curse his reflection. _What makes you so special?_ Johnthought viciously.Omegas bond every day. John hated himself for thinking he was so much better than the others. If he hadn't whined and guilted his father into helping him then his father would still be alive and his parents never would've divorced.

With a snarl, John smashed his fist against the glass and cracked his hateful reflection. He hit the mirror again and again until blood was splattering over the counter. The blood sparked an idea. John grabbed the sharpest fragment he could find and brought it up to his throat. Just as he was about to bring the blade across his neck, he thought one last time of Sherlock and hesitated. _Do you trust me?_ echoed through his mind. As John's hand trembled, the door to his room swung open and half a dozen guards rushed in.

They swarmed John, lifting him entirely off the floor. John screamed and thrashed even as the man in charge cooed, "Calm down, love. No reason for this."

While they wrestled him onto the bed, John could see a man in a lab coat preparing a syringe.

One of the men holding his legs began to rut against the mattress and moan.  Another guard noticed and smacked him across the back of the head, "Jesus, Kevin, get a hold of yourself."

"I can't. His smell is too much. I think he's in heat."

The man in charge wiped the sweat from John's brow and looked into his eyes. "You're right," he answered. "Call Vincent, tell him it's time."

John screamed and struggled even harder. The man continued to caress his face and said, "Don't worry. This'll all be over soon. You'll be so much happier when it's done."

"Fuck off!" John screeched.

John twisted and flailed so hard it took them three tries to get the needle into his arm. With his last consciousness fading, John prayed he would not wake.

 

John never liked leather. He had always preferred cotton and wool, comfort and warmth. Leather implied violence. Nothing ever appealed to him about wearing the skin of an animal. The leather band chafing at his neck and wrists only pushed John's dislike to hatred.

Humiliation was too gentle a word to describe what John felt. They hadn't even allowed him the dignity of clothes. He was stripped completely nude and bound to a metal ring in the floor by a leash connected to his collar. He could only kneel since the length did not allow him to stand.

His traitorous body throbbed for touch. John squeezed his thighs tightly together in a desperate attempt to dull the ache between his legs. A bead of sweat dripped from his face and landed on his erect cock. John clenched his teeth and held back an aggravated yell. To find some sort of distraction, John tried to analyze the room he was in.

He had no sense of time in the windowless room. When he awoke from sedation, he was alone. There was no one to seduce, no one to plead to, and no one to save him. He was in the position he had always feared: an alpha's plaything. His life as a doctor, soldier, and detective meant nothing. He had been reduced to one purpose and nothing else mattered to his captors.

From what John could see of the room, which wasn't much, it appeared to be a theater of sorts.  John was positioned on a raised platform with three rows of plush armchairs fanning outward. Before him was a tripod with an affixed camera ready to bear witness.

When John began to test his restraints, a man entered through a door in the back. John recognized him as one of the guards that had restrained him. Before approaching the _stage_ , the guard pulled a ski mask onto his face. That only confirmed what John feared: the video was going public.

The guard approached John and knelt to stare deeply into his face. Placing his hands on John's face, he lowered John's eyelids and checked his pupils. After making his assessment, he looked at the camera and said, "He's ready."

"Fuck off," John spat. He honestly couldn't think of anything else to say through the haze of his rage.

The guard only chuckled and ruffled John's hair as he said, "Now be on your best behavior. These men are on the _top_."

John jerked his chains only earning another amused laugh. The guard sauntered to a different set of doors and opened them, standing back to let the others through.

 When the doors opened and the alpha elite filed in, John could only glare with the promise of slow death to anyone that touched him. The alphas wore black hoods and full body robes completely hiding their identity. A few of the men walked with scantily clad omegas crawling behind them. They wore masks across their eyes but John could still see that some were teenagers. Nearest to the dais that John was shackled to was a boy looking no more than 17. He wore angry, red whip marks down his back. They briefly made eye contact before the boy averted his eyes as he had been trained to.

Once everyone had entered and settled into chairs, omegas crouched at their feet. A spotlight turned on directly above John's head. An alpha approached him. He wore the same hood as his brethren but his robe had a large red wolf, the symbol of their order, embroidered on the back.  He tenderly ran his hand through John's hair then stepped away and began to speak:

 

_"Alphas of the world, we gather today to complete our ancient rite of bonding. The man before us is the fabled Watson Omega."_

Shocked gasps and whispers spread through the room. They silenced again when the speaker continued, _"Although we have searched diligently, a dangerous network of corrupt betas have conspired to hide him for TWENTY-FOUR YEARS! Their poisonous lies have kept him hidden but by the grace of God and his army of loyal followers, now he is found. Omegas are the Lord's most precious gifts. A reward to his bravest, strongest, and most intelligent creation: the alpha."_

At that, a round of applause went up, turning John's stomach.

_"As we all know so well, the beta, our inferior servant, has been chipping away at the time honored traditions of society. Their jealous, petty minds have concocted plan after plan to destroy all we hold dear. With only their superiority in numbers to aide them, betas have taken our generosity, our civilized ways, and helped themselves to our jobs, wealth, and women._

_But, my brothers, we gave freely. We supported our lower males because we knew they could not create for themselves. We would have continued to give all we had but their greed knew no bounds. They set their sights upon our most beloved. Not content to bask in our progress and achievement, they sought to take what is rightfully ours: our omegas._

_This omega before us was preyed upon by one such depraved beta pretender. With honeyed lies and the trading of sexual favors, one beta rose high within the ranks of British police. Using his position in Scotland Yard, this beta searched tirelessly for an omega to claim. He saw his opportunity and latched on to this sweet, trusting omega under the guise of friendship. A friendship with the most sinister intents. He coerced his way into the omega's bed and flaunted his prize across all of London._

_I tell you today that a line must be drawn. We cannot and we will not allow betas to seize our birthright. For his heretic and devious plotting to steal this gentle soul before us, the beta Gregory Lestrade will witness the omega's bonding before being rightfully sentenced to death."_

 

On cue, Lestrade was dragged out from the shadows and made to kneel next to the dais. He was limping and had his right eye bruised shut. John once again futilely struggled against his bonds and called out, "Greg! Are you alright?"

When Lestrade attempted to speak, one of the alphas holding him smacked him roughly across the mouth.  John yelled in frustration.

" _We have chosen our strongest and brightest member to enter into an eternal bond with the omega so that he may finally be free of the poisonous constraints of this disgusting beta letch_."

A man stepped forward. He was tall, muscular, and fair-skinned. He wore a robe and mask but no other clothing beneath. He knelt down and placed his hands on John's cheeks, affectionately caressing him like a lover.  The leader called out, "Brother, do you swear loyalty to this omega?"

With a soft voice, he replied, "I do."

"Are you prepared to bind yourself to this gentle soul and protect him from the evils of the world?"

Leaning closer, the alpha said, "I am."

"Will you care for him as your most precious possession for the rest of your life?"

With a soft kiss to John's lips, the alpha said, "I will."

"Then you may now commence the bonding with your brothers around the world as witness."

The world slowed down. John's vision turned red as his heart beat deafened him to all else. John no longer felt his body shuddering with heat, the light burning his skin, or the humiliation of his bondage. There was only rage.

The clueless alpha snaked a hand down John's back and pushed his finger against John's dripping hole. Gently, he pushed the digit inside and brought his mouth to John's ear and whispered, "Mine."

The last tendril of John’s control snapped. John released a feral snarl and bit down on his captor's neck, tasting the coppery tang of blood flowing into his mouth. The only thing that made him release his quarry was the sound of the door bursting open and dozens of armed men in riot gear flooding the room.  With his neck released, John's alpha intended rolled away screeching in pain. The masked alphas desperately tried to flee but there was nowhere to go. John continued to thrash against his bonds, a murderous frenzy coursing through every fiber of his being.

In the midst of his struggle, someone covered John in a blanket and cooed soothing words. John then realized that his screams of rage were coming through as desperate moans. The man helping him unlocked the chains and drew John into his arms. The alpha scent helped to calm his body, taking him from brutal thrashing to weak shaking. John relaxed into the strong body holding him and wept, "Sherlock. They touched me, Sherlock."

But the voice that responded was not the one he wanted to hear. Instead of Sherlock's deep baritone, it was Moran's Manchester drawl. "You're safe now, John. It's all over."

John could only continue his weeping, "Sherlock. Where's Sherlock?"

"He's on his way. We're taking you to a safe house and he'll join you when he gets back."

"They touched me," John whispered.

Moran held him closer, "I know. But they'll pay. They'll all pay."  

The scene outside was chaos. Military personnel secured the exits and blockaded the roads. Reporters swarmed everywhere they could squeeze in. Helicopters buzzed overhead and John could hardly make sense of anything outside of his driving need. He would have fallen to the ground had Moran not supported most of his weight as he led him into a waiting car.

 

_"I don't believe you. How do I really know what's in that syringe?"_

_"I happen to be an expert with intravenous drugs."_

_"Is that what this is? Are you high again, Sherlock? You continue to be nothing but a disappointment."_

_"Father, you best watch your tone."_

_"Don't speak to me like that, Mycroft. You've always had more sense than your brother. How did he manage to convince you of this preposterous conspiracy theory?"_

_"I'm afraid you have it backwards. Sherlock was the one that needed convincing."_

_"It's Watson's son, isn't it? He's seduced the both of you. Once he's bonded, he won't be seeing the light of day again. Now quit this foolishness and remember you are Holmes men, you have an obligation to this family."_

_"You're right. A man cannot choose his family but he can choose to leave it."_

_"Sherlock! Put that down."_

 

 

Once they had been driven several blocks away from the scene, Moran untangled John from his side. He then reached into a bag and took out a bottle of water and a flannel. Until Moran began dabbing him with the damp cloth, John hadn't even noticed he was covered in blood.

While keeping his eyes focused on the seat in front of him, John asked, "Is he dead?"

"Who?" Moran asked.

"The one I bit," John said.

"Does it matter?" Moran replied. John stayed quiet. Moran sighed and checked his mobile. "No, not dead. Not yet anyway."

"Where are we going?"

"A safe house owned by the Front. You still have another 24 hours before the drug wears off completely," Moran said as he reached into the bag and took out a set of clothes.

John had also forgotten that he was naked. Pulling on the shirt did little to calm John's nerves and getting the track pants on only reminded him of his persistent erection.

Moran noticed as well. "Do you need help with that?"

John shook his head, "No. No, I'd rather not be touched right now."

"Right," Moran said. "Sherlock is on his way. He'll arrive in a couple of hours."

John nodded absently.  After ten minutes of tense silence, they arrived at a row of upscale flats. Moran gave John a pair of sandals and led him inside. There were two of the most muscular women John had ever seen standing guard in the entryway. Moran directed John upstairs and down a corridor to a room with a steel door. Another female guard was posted. She wasn't as muscular as her colleagues but she was holding a semi-automatic rifle. With a nod from Moran, she scanned her thumb on a wall console and opened the door for them.

The room was simple and windowless. It lacked any of the luxury of the room the alphas kept him in. For that, John was grateful.

Once they were inside, Moran said, "This is Emma. We served together in Afghanistan. Only person to ever surpass me in confirmed kills."

Emma gave a curt nod and retook her position across the corridor.

Once the door shut, Moran said, "This is the intercom. If you need anything just press the red button. There's clothing in the cabinet, flannels in the bathroom, food and drinks in the mini-fridge, and pain killers in the medicine cabinet." With an awkward cough, Moran continued, "There are _toys_ in the bedside table."

Normally John would've been embarrassed, but at that point, he had no dignity left to lose. Moran looked around the room, straining for something else to say but could apparently think of nothing. He buzzed the intercom and Emma opened the door for him. On his way out, he said, "When Sherlock arrives, they'll send him up."

John shrugged and turned his back. Once the door bolted shut and John was alone, his bodily needs rushed the forefront of his mind and blinded everything else. Flopping backwards onto the bed, John reached into his track pants and grabbed his aching cock. John quickly realized his hand alone would not be enough. After rolling over and reaching into the bedside table, John grabbed the first vibrator he could reach. He shoved his track pants down, raised his knees up and pushed the toy in rougher than he probably should have. But the pain didn't matter. Nothing mattered. All John wanted was to end the nightmare.

Two agonizing hours later, John had used every toy in the room and still hadn't come once.  Emma’s announcement that Sherlock had arrived nearly caused John to break down in tears of relief. However, when the door opened and he saw Sherlock's face, another wave of inexhaustible anger swept over him. He grabbed the detective by the lapels of his coat and pulled him into the room.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" John said as he slammed the door shut.

Sherlock, in a most unusual display of sheepishness, fiddled with the hem of his shirt and averted his eyes. "I apologize for the delay. It was . . . unavoidable."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's typically vague response and decided he didn't much care what had kept him. With a desperate harshness, John pulled Sherlock against him and claimed his lips in a bruising kiss. Just as Sherlock began to open up to the embrace, John's lust addled brain noticed something was wrong. John gave Sherlock a suspicious glare and roughly pulled him down to smell his neck.

"You smell wrong," John said. "What have you done?"

"What I had to," Sherlock said. His voice was soft and almost sad. "There's a drug the Omega Liberation Front possesses. It blocks alpha hormone production."

"Why on Earth would you have to take that?" John said pushing Sherlock away. "You're fucking useless to me like this."

Sherlock flinched as he said, "It was the only way to convince my father to betray the Brotherhood."

"Your father? What does he have to do with any of this?"

"He was a leading member of the alpha brotherhood and directly involved in the assassination of your father," Sherlock answered.

Without hesitation, John sent a right hook into Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock reeled but made no move to retaliate. John's rage only swelled at the passive response. He roughly tackled Sherlock to the ground, hands grabbing his throat. "You better start explaining," John said through clenched teeth.

"I'd always known of my father's political leanings, but it was only recently that Mycroft told me about his actual level of involvement in extremist affairs," Sherlock said as he gently held John's wrists, not fighting the pressure on his neck. "He was a member of their so-called 'inner circle' and oversaw the decision to eliminate your father.”

At that, John jumped off Sherlock and stalked across the room.

As John paced, Sherlock remained prone on the floor and continued, “I needed to convince him to turn over the documents he kept and put in a call to have the bonding ceremony interrupted. Please believe me when I tell you, he was the only one that could do it with the certainty that all those involved would be apprehended and prosecuted.”

John threw a lamp into the wall.

“The day of your abduction, Mycroft and I flew out to our parent’s estate. We demanded his cooperation but he refused. A private security force operated by the Liberation Front surrounded the manor and we entered a standoff. Negotiations grew . . . heated.”

John would later wonder just what Sherlock meant but at that moment, he didn’t care.

“In the end, the only thing I had to threaten him with was his lineage. I took the drug and threatened to publicly denounce myself as an alpha. Mycroft was going to take it next."

"But he caved," John interrupted.

"Yes."

"The documents must have incriminated him. Is he going to jail?"

"He and mother fled the country. They've been given asylum by the Russian government."

"Russia won't extradite alphas." John threw a bottle of water that landed three inches from Sherlock’s head. "You let them go. You knew what he'd done and you allowed him to go free."

"I . . . I had to."

"Get out," John said as he hauled Sherlock to his feet.

Sherlock resisted and fell to his knees, "John, please listen. I-"

"I don't want to hear it," John said. "Get out now before I call security to have you thrown out."

With a weak voice, Sherlock begged, "Don't turn me away. Not now."

John groaned and walked over to unlock the door. Before he could reach it, Sherlock had scrambled up and latched onto John's arm. The unexpected contact sent a flash of panic through John's already frayed nerves. Instinct took over as John bent Sherlock's arm behind his back and slammed him head first into the steel door.

With his other hand, John pressed the intercom and shouted, "Get him outta here!"

In a flash, the door opened and Sherlock was being pulled out none too gently by the security guard, Emma. Not taking notice of the blood dripping from Sherlock's nose and the tears forming, John yelled after Sherlock, "I never want to see your face again, you spineless twat!"

Sherlock turned away dejectedly only fueling John's rage that the man had the gall to pity himself. The door nearly fell off its hinges as John slammed it shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! If you're still with me, I love you.  
> I didn't intend for John to go so dark here but I realized there's only so far a person can be pushed while under the stress of an experimental drug. I probably should have added warnings but I figure anyone that's made it this far won't be scared off by a little violence.


	15. Chapter 15

"Uh . . . I'm . . . done," John stammered into the intercom. He wasn't quite sure how to phrase his awkward request to rejoin society.

After an agonizing 15 hours, John had finally collapsed in exhaustion. When he woke, the heat had passed.  After a long, refreshing shower, John ate a bag of grapes he found in the fridge and drank a bottle of mineral water. He picked out a clean pair of clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, from the closet and dressed himself.

The day before was a blur. Whenever John tried to sort through what had happened, a headache formed under his brow. He remembered the leather collar, the bright spot light, the hooded men, and the taste of blood. He felt the aftershock of his rage, an anger that had consumed all thoughts and reason. The anger had felt righteous, justified, but there was a niggling doubt lingering behind everything.  Something was wrong but John could not remember what.

When the door opened, John was pleasantly surprised to find Greg waiting in the corridor with Emma. A flood of warmth and affection coursed through John as he charged into Greg and pulled him into a crushing hug. Greg huffed in surprise but returned the embrace.

If the hug lasted longer than he was comfortable with, Greg didn't show it. When they finally parted, John took the chance to check over his friend for injuries. With the exception of a black eye, Greg seemed fine and even had a fond smile on his face.

"There was a moment back there when I thought we weren't going to make it," John confessed.

Greg chuckled, "There was a moment when _I_ thought you were going to kill everyone in the room."

John flushed in embarrassment. "What happened to . . ."

"The moron who touched you?" Greg asked. John nodded. "Died on the operating table. Some sort of cardiac problem."

John wondered if it was Moran or some other member of the Front who took care of that.

"Don't feel bad. I warned 'um," Greg said. "I told 'um that anyone who lays a finger on John Watson would not live to tell the tale. That's what got me this." Lestrade pointed to his eye. "They thought I was _threatening_ them."

"Who was he? The one they chose for the bonding?"

"You won't believe this. An MP's son. 20 years old. Supposedly, he was a right spoiled brat. The family has already disassociated from him, saying he had suffered a mental breakdown some time back and ran off with the Alpha Brotherhood. Against their express wishes, of course," Greg said. "The last 24 hours have been a mad scramble for every alpha in the government to condemn the Brotherhood. I got to watch as they hauled the Superintendent off in cuffs. Don't worry, I took a video on my phone for you."

"What about the alphas in the room?"

"Every one has been arrested on kidnapping and conspiracy to commit murder. Three will most likely be executed. They had underage omegas under force bond. Sick fucks."

"So, it worked?" John asked. He still was not quite sure what the result was they were going for. John wanted answers for his father's murder, but everyone seemed to have a different endgame.

"It's certainly gotten people's attention," Greg said. "I suppose time will tell if all this is gonna last."

"Greg," John said, holding Lestrade's hand. "Thank you. You didn't have to get involved with this. It means everything that you did."

Lestrade squeezed John's hand and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Let's go," Greg said. "Mycroft has a car waiting for us."

"Where _is_ Mycroft?" John asked, realizing he probably owed the man a thank you as well.

"Hasn't slowed down since he returned to London," Greg said. "Apparently, there are many strings to be pulled and matters of state to attend to."

As they stepped outside, John could hear the roaring of a crowd in the distance.

"What's that?"

"Another riot, I suspect," Greg said with a shrug. "There's been a rash of them. People are none too pleased that half their government has been identified as members of an extremist group."

John supposed it made sense.

"They are also upset that the nation's alpha elite tried to force bond a decorated war hero," Greg said as he unfolded a paper and handed it to John.

To John's horror, it was a flier featuring a photo of him from the military and the words "Omega Equality Now."

"Congratulations, you've become a national icon."

John groaned.

 

When they arrived at Baker Street, the sidewalk was littered with flowers and candles.

"Don't worry, Mycroft had the crowd dispersed an hour ago. There may be stragglers later but the police are keeping a look out."

Greg pointed to a sedan parked further down the block.

"The Front has their own people staked out somewhere as well. I suppose I should leave you to patch things up with Sherlock," Greg said. "He's had a very rough few days. He could do with some gentle treatment."

John nodded and gave Greg one last hug before going inside.

As John walked the familiar stairs of 221B, he realized just how much he'd missed it. He recalled the day he came back after leaving Sherlock and wondered if he would find it in a similar state. John tried to clean what he could but Sherlock was always a step ahead with his clutter.

Stepping into the old flat, John cracked his sore back and said, "Sherlock, do we have anything edible in here?"

The voice that answered was not what he was expecting.

"Sherlock seems to have stepped out," said a man lounging in Sherlock's chair. "As for edible food stuffs, you're completely out of luck."

The man had a small frame and delicate features. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit with a black band on one arm. It took a moment but John eventually recognized his face.

"Victor Trevor, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Victor stood and approached John, a warm smile on his beautiful face. He held out a hand to shake and when John returned it, he gently pulled John in closer and placed his other hand on top of their joined ones.

"I thought it was only appropriate that we finally meet," Victor said as he released John's hand and affectionately rubbed his arm. "There are no words that can possibly serve to thank you for your bravery and sacrifice. You're truly an inspiration to us all."

The sincerity of Victor's words and the kindness in his voice brought a small blush to John's cheeks. As John attempted to stammer a reply, Victor said, "But here I am rambling on while you're practically famished."

"No, I-" John started to say but was cut-off.

"Stephanie," Victor called. A tall, muscular woman looking very much like the women guarding the safe house, stepped forward from the kitchen. She had been so quiet that John hadn't even known he was there. "Stephanie, darling, there's a shop downstairs. Run down and purchase a sandwich for Dr. Watson. Thank you so much."

The woman hesitated and said, "Sir, I shouldn't leave-"

"Nonsense. We'll be just fine for a few minutes. Go, Dr. Watson is starving!"

The woman begrudgingly turned and left the flat.

Victor sighed fondly and said, "They truly think us completely helpless. It always amazes me. I mean only 24 hours ago you bit a man's throat out and yet there are ten armed agents monitoring this block as we speak, ready to save you should you stub your toe."

John could only nod dumbly. Victor unleashed another of his dazzling smiles and directed John toward his arm chair. "Come, sit. You must be exhausted. Let me get the kettle put on for tea."

"No, no, I couldn't-" John began.

"Oh, I insist. Despite what people think, I can actually manage in a kitchen. Just as long as it's nothing more complicated than toast," Victor said with a soft chuckle.

John sat stiffly and waited while Victor prepared their tea. As he moved about the kitchen, he said, "This flat is brilliant."

"Really?" John said, looking around the messy space he called home.

"It's eclectic. So very stylish in its own absurdity."

"Thank you?"

"Ugh, he still has that skull. I went through a terribly unsuccessful run of nixing his smoking habit. I found out he was hiding cigarettes in there."

John felt a surprising wave of jealousy sweep through him. The idea of someone else being privy to Sherlock's personal attentions seemed inherently _wrong._

As if sensing his thoughts, Victor said, "I suppose I shouldn't say things like that. Everyone knows the person they love existed before they met but people don't like hearing about it. Lord knows I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's alright," John said, feeling foolish.

At that, Victor came back into the room and set down the tea tray. He sat down across from John and reached a hand out to John's knee.

"It's not alright," Victor said. "You have no reason to be so nice to me. Sherlock and I, our relationship was a train wreck and it was entirely my fault. I was cruel and unfair. I've worried for so long that I hurt him irreparably. I was a stupid, vindictive child and Sherlock paid the price for my petulance."

John could only stare, dumbfounded at Victor's confession.

"It's such a relief to know he has someone so extraordinary to spend his life with."

Victor sat back in his chair and waited patiently for a response from John. After a long moment, John asked, "Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why did you treat him like that?"

Victor sighed and said, "I loved him. From the moment I met him, I was madly in love with everything that made him so unique and brilliant. But he didn't love me. He didn't even _like_ me. The only reason he paid the slightest bit of attention to me was because I was an omega. I resented him for it. I had never in my entire life had to work for someone's affection. That resentment nearly drove me mad. Nothing I did was even worthy of room in his hard drive."

John remembered thinking the same thing many times during their friendship.

"He couldn't even be bothered to be jealous. I would flirt, openly, right in front of him and he wouldn't even bat an eye. When I told him I was leaving, I was only bluffing. All I wanted was for him to tell me he cared.  I shudder to think of how he regards me. I can only imagine I must be a blight upon his youth."

Victor brought a thumb to his eye and wiped away a tear.

"Sherlock is not an easy man to know," John said, guilt creeping steadily into his heart.

Victor seemed to sense John's discomfort and said, "Let's talk business, shall we? I'm assigning you a publicist for the interim that can arrange any public events and work on your appearance, hair, and wardrobe that sort of thing. As I'm sure you're aware, you will be subpoenaed as a witness in any criminal cases. Your sister has started work on a civil case that is looking quite promising. During interviews, would you rather be addressed as Captain or Doctor?"

"I'm sorry, interviews? Publicist? I'm not sure what people are expecting of me but I don't want to be a public figure," John said.

"It's a bit late for that," Victor said. "Like it or not, you are the face of omega equality in Britain. No need to be self conscious, you'd be amazed at the things a decent tailor and trained stylist can accomplish. We'll get you into the gym, shed a few pounds, take care of the grey hair, perhaps have your teeth whitened. You'll be perfectly presentable."

"That's not the-" John stammered but touched his hand to back of head. "Is the grey that noticeable?"

"You've had to live convincingly as a beta. It's only natural you'd let yourself go," Victor said with a smile that was quickly losing its charm.

John bristled at the insult. "Look, I've done my part for the greater good. I'll appear in court as necessary but other than that, I want privacy."

Victor's friendly visage twitched minutely as he said, "That's disappointing but I suppose not entirely unexpected." Victor paused for a moment and thought, then continued, "I'll tell you what. You'll write a statement for publication in the Guardian. In it, you'll explain that after the harrowing events of your near bonding, you're seeking a life of seclusion. Give your full support to the Omega Equality movement and some words of encouragement for those _fighting the good fight."_

"Then mention my _good friend,_ Victor Trevor and encourage him to take my place as leader of said movement," John said, earning another flinch from Victor.

"I didn't peg you to be such a cynic," Victor said. "Mycroft Holmes assured me you'd be an asset to our cause. He was the one that convinced us to let you survive the ordeal."

"Survive?"

"You were originally going to commit _suicide_ after your bonding," Victor said. "Every worthy cause needs a martyr."

John gripped the arms of his chair to refrain from assaulting the smug man in front of him. "Is that why Moran was sent in undercover?"

"Ugh, Moran," Victor said. "That was at Mycroft's insistence as well. Frankly, I don't trust the man. He was always too loyal to Moriarty. After escorting you to the safe house, he buggered off and hasn't been heard from since. Good riddance."

"I thought Moriarty was your leader," John said.

"Goodness no. He was a wildcard, a loose cannon. He was entirely too unpredictable to be a real leader. We relied on him to take care of the more _unsavory_ aspects of the organization. I tell you, he sure would've enjoyed these riots. The man thrived on chaos," Victor sighed fondly. "Now I admit there was a time I considered him a friend, but in the last year he'd grown far too erratic. It was a difficult decision but his elimination was the best for everyone." 

"You were the one that ordered the hit on Moriarty?" John asked.

"What was I supposed to do, let him kill Sherlock?" Victor scoffed. "A dead Holmes was the last thing we needed."

John was at a loss for words. His instincts were telling him to punch the haughty look off the man's face, but he was not that stupid. Victor Trevor held far too much power and apparently was not afraid to wield it.

"I didn't want Sherlock involved in any of this," Victor said. "Unfortunately, he involved himself. He always had a blind spot where his parents were concerned. He's surprisingly sentimental at times. Mycroft kept him in the dark about their master plan until the last minute."

"Why?"

"Mycroft thought, and I agreed, that if Sherlock knew of his father's involvement in your father's death, he would've killed the man. We would've lost our best bargaining chip," Victor said. "I still can't believe he took that damned drug even knowing what it did to poor Gunter."

"Gunter, was he your alpha, the one that . . . you know?"

"Shame that. I was only trying to teach him a lesson about gender equality. I never intended for him to off himself. He always was so dramatic," Victor said. "The drug was new and barely tested so I gave it him gradually, slipped small doses into his coffee for a week. How was I supposed to know it was permanent?"

John's stomach sank. _It can't be possible!_ Barely restraining a tremor, John asked, _"_ It's permanent?"

"Oh yes. It was thought the drug would behave similar to your father's creation but it had quite different results. The omega blocking drug only halts the production of hormones but the alpha blocker erodes the gland completely." Victor said with a shrug. "The other unexpected side effect was a massive drop in endorphin levels. Gunter and I had quarreled and apparently that was enough for him to decide he had _no reason to live_. Like I said, dramatic."

John stood abruptly, his heart threatening to leap from his chest.  Victor seemed not to notice and kept prattling on, "We were a bit worried because Sherlock took one large dose intravenously and that had never been done before. Is he doing alright? I haven't heard anything since-"

"You need to leave," John said interrupting Victor.

What have I done? John asked himself. Suddenly the fight with Sherlock the day before came back to him. In his blind rage, he had missed Sherlock begging him to listen. He missed Sherlock desperately clinging to him. He missed Sherlock's eyes filling with tears. Sherlock had given up everything: his family, his inheritance . . . his _gender_ and John had thrown him out.

"Wha- steady on. We haven't finished discussing things," Victor said with an indignant frown on his face.

"I'll write the damn editorial. In fact, have your publicist write it and I'll sign whatever he comes up with," John said crowding Victor toward the door.

"Really?" Victor asked. "And you'll name me as leader of the movement?"

"Yes, anything you want," John said. _Now go before I smash your head in with the teapot._

John hustled a startled Victor Trevor down the stairs and before the man could protest further, slammed the door in his face. John stormed into the downstairs flat and called out, "Mrs. Hudson!"

The elderly lady appeared at John's shout and rushed over, hugging him tightly.

"Oh, John I was so worried about you. You've been all over the news. Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Hudson said, nearly out of breath.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked as he held the woman at arm's length.

"I thought he was with you," Mrs. Hudson said.

John's gut twisted even further. John didn't know what state he would find Sherlock in. He could only pray it was alive. Taking out his mobile, he sent a text to Mycroft. As he waited for the reply, John ran back upstairs and pulled out a hoodie. It wouldn't be much camouflage but John did not care. John was out the door as soon as the message came through. _St. Bart's._

 

John searched frantically through the hospital. Sherlock wasn't in any of the labs or the morgue, and even Molly had not seen him in hours.

"John, he looked terrible," Molly said, twisting her hair with her fingers. "He had bruises on his face. His eyes were puffy. I've never seen him like that. Is he using again?"

"I hope not," John said, barely able to stomach his own guilt. John realized he would need access to security cameras. He sent another text to Mycroft. The reply came almost immediately. _The roof._ Mycroft had been watching.

John had never run faster in his entire life. Not when he was being shot at in Afghanistan. Not when they were chasing a cab through London. John was fueled by anguish and fear. He could not lose Sherlock, not like that.

When John reached the roof access door, he froze in horror. It was locked. Desperately he pounded on the steel and yelled for Sherlock. Realizing that Sherlock was not going to open it, John ran back down the stairs and shouted for security.

 

"I can't open it, sir," the security guard said as he tried the keys again. "It's barricaded."

"Keep trying," John said as he turned and ran down the stairs.

After sprinting outside, John looked up and his body sagged in relief when he saw Sherlock's distinctive silhouette on the roof. John tried the man's phone yet again. When Sherlock still wouldn't pick up, John grew desperate. He began to scream, "Sherlock! Sherlock!"

John must have appeared like a total loon. People were stopping to stare. However, he continued to yell, "Sherlock, please don't do this! Let me talk to you."

When there was still a lack of reply, John tried one last move. "Sherlock, this is John Watson. I did not just go through a kidnapping and near bonding to have you ignore me!"

Sure enough, people began to crowd around. Some were taking photos and video. John's phone rang.

"Sherlock! Please listen to me-"

"John, what are you doing?"

John nearly wept at the sound of Sherlock's voice.

"You're drawing attention to yourself," Sherlock said, worry seeping through his voice.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. How about we go talk somewhere in private?" John asked.

"I think it's time we go our separate ways," Sherlock said.

"No," John answered. "No, that's a bad idea. Do you know why?"

Sherlock did not answer. "It's a bad idea because I love you. Remember? I love you and you love me. Whatever you're thinking of doing would be very silly."

"I didn't write a note," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"People leave notes, but I didn't know what to write," Sherlock said. "I suppose this will be my note."

"Sherlock, what I said to you yesterday," John began. "That wasn't me. I didn't mean a word of it. It's easy to lose one's mind on drugs. You know that better than anyone."

"I know that although drugs lower inhibition they cannot place completely new ideas into someone's mind," Sherlock said. "You had those thoughts to begin with. I've known they were true for much longer."

"No, Sherlock . . . no," John said. He put his hand to his forehead in some half-hearted attempt to knead the right words from his mind. "I met Victor Trevor."

"When?"

"An hour ago, at our flat. He showed up and we talked," John explained. "He's such a prick."

At that Sherlock laughed as he said, "He is, isn't he?"

"Sherlock, he explained the drug to me," John said. "I know you're no longer an alpha and that's fine."

"I'm useless like this," Sherlock said. John cringed as he remembered his atrocious words from the day before. "I can't protect you."

"You don't need to, Sherlock," John said. "You said it, remember? _John can take care of himself_."

"I can never bond with you," Sherlock said.

"I don't care," John said. "If I wanted to bond, I'm not exactly lacking in volunteers. I want _you_ not your knot."

The crowd around John was growing considerably. A man behind him shouted, "I got a knot for you, darling!"

Before John could even respond, a woman with a familiar muscular build pushed the man back and whispered something in his ear. John couldn't hear it but the color drained from the alpha's face.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, that's Emma," John said. "She's a friend of Moran. She's good but I don't know how much longer she can hold them off. Let me up there and she can guard the door while we talk."

Sherlock was silent on the other end for the longest moment of John's life. Finally, he sighed and said, "Alright."

John called out, "Emma, follow me!"

The woman pushed her way through the crowd and ran behind John as he navigated back up to the roof. When they reached the door, John thanked the security guard and looked up at Emma, "I'm going out there. Make sure no one gets through this door."

"Yes, sir," Emma said, turning to keep an eye on the corridor.

John reached out for the door knob and silently prayed for its cooperation. Mercifully the door opened and John stumbled over his own feet crossing the threshold. He sprinted toward Sherlock's lonesome figure perched on the edge of the building.

John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him off the ledge, wrapping him tightly in his arms. Burying his face in Sherlock's chest, John never wanted to let go. In fact, he never wanted to let Sherlock out of his sight again. Sherlock gently returned the hug and placed his hands on John's back. When John let out a soft sob, Sherlock's resolve broke and he squeezed John back with equal force.

"I couldn't bear it, John. I couldn't go back." Sherlock said, his voice laced with sadness. "I could not bring myself to walk up the stairs of the flat. The life I had before is no longer an option."

"Then marry me," John said, wiping away a tear. He moved his hands up to Sherlock's face and kissed him softly.

"You've taken _everything_ from me," Sherlock whispered darkly against John's lips.

"I haven't taken a goddamned thing you didn't give willingly," John said and crushed their mouths together roughly. "You're mine now, Sherlock. There's no separating us after this."

"Is that a promise?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a warning," John replied.

The tension fell out of Sherlock's body and he slumped against John, chuckling as he went. "Take me home, John."

John held him close and kissed his mop of curls as he helped him to the doorway.

 

 

* * *

 

Epilogue

_"Three months ago, this nation witnessed the depravity of our so-called alpha leaders. Since then we have made monumental strides toward freedom and equality. Together, we will continue fighting for the rights of ALL citizens!"_

The crowd roared in agreement. Banners, balloons, and signs decorated a rally, 35,000 people strong. Dozens of news outlets had cameras pointed at the speaker, broadcasting his message across the world.

It took one shot to bring the speaker down. The high powered rifle killed him instantly and, in the chaos, the shooter easily escaped. He walked for ten blocks to where his motorcycle was parked. He knew highway traffic would be a disaster. It seemed people always forgot how to drive in times of uncertainty. But, the gunman took his time and wound his way through local streets leading to the suburbs. From there he rode another two hours to a small town where he had recently purchased a modest cottage.

Upon entering the flat, he stowed his rifle under the floorboards, turned on the television, and began to sort through the post.

_Famed omega rights activist and billionaire, Victor Trevor, was shot and killed at a rally in central London only hours ago. It has not yet been confirmed who is responsible for the assassination but authorities suspect the involvement of the Alpha Brotherhood. For more, we're going to the field with . . ._

The mail that day consisted of a flier for the local supermarket, an electric bill, and a finely printed card. Upon opening, it read: _You are cordially invited to the wedding of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Dr. John Hamish Watson._

Taking out a pen and paper, the gunman wrote a message for the happy couple. _Sorry I couldn't make it, but I hope you enjoy my gift. Best wishes, Sebastian Moran._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. Can't believe that took over two years to write. I hope the ending satisfies. I had never intended to have them bond so I hope no one was hanging on for that. I apologize if that was the case. Originally I had Sherlock jumping but after reading it, I thought that might be too cruel. 
> 
> I'm still shocked at the response this piece has gotten. I can't thank you enough for your lovely comments, they are always the highlight of my day. 
> 
> On a personal note, if you'd like to know the inspiration for the story, it started with some health problems of mine. I was diagnosed with advanced PCOS. It's pretty common for women and very treatable but mine went un-diagnosed for many years and it got to the point I wasn't menstruating anymore. The doctor told me I'd probably not be able to have children and the only way I could menstruate again was by taking birth control. That gave me the idea to write about a bodily process being controlled by medication. I was into omega!verse at the time and just kinda mashed things together.


End file.
